


When It's Cold I'd Like To Die

by GayGirlOfTheGalaxy



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 1940s, Angst, Bi Howard Stark, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Emotional, Gay Bucky Barnes, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, M/M, Memory Loss, Peggy Carter & Howard Stark Friendship, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Captain America: The First Avenger, Post-WWII, Rare Pairings, Recovery, Slow Burn, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:48:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 63,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23062741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GayGirlOfTheGalaxy/pseuds/GayGirlOfTheGalaxy
Summary: Tony saw the tape in the bunker in Siberia. He knew what the Winter Soldier had done and he didn't need further explanation from Steve or anyone else. But, one day when he is going through his Father's things he finds a note and a photo that make him question everything.70 years earlier, across the ocean and in the shadow of war, Howard and Bucky develop a relationship that changes the course of both men's lives forever.OR, the long, multi-generational road to some much needed closure.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes/Howard Stark, Peggy Carter & Howard Stark
Comments: 128
Kudos: 120





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a storyline that has been rolling around my mind for awhile and I decided to finally just get it out. I've always thought the emotional dynamics between Bucky, Howard, and Tony were interesting. What if not only did Bucky kill Howard as the Winter Soldier, but before the fall Bucky and Howard were lovers? How would that impact Howard after the war, and in turn how would it impact Bucky once he is free from Hydra's mind control? And how would Tony reconcile the Winter Soldier as his parents' assassin, and Bucky as his father's first love?
> 
> Title from song by Moby.

**Fall 2016**

“But Pep, I really need to check on…” Tony’s half-hearted protest was cut off by Pepper’s sharp sigh that could be heard through the phone

“Tony,” she started calmly, “you promised you would finish going through your Dad’s things months ago. I’ve cleared your schedule, you are already there, there is no reason you can’t just finish this now.”

Tony could tell by the tone of her voice that she was pinching her nose, eyes closed and looking up, as if asking some higher power to help deal with his childlike refusal to do chores.

“You’re right. You’re right” Tony lamented. She was always right.

Tony could hear her expel the breath she had been holding. “Great, thank you,” she said softly. “I’ll let you get to it then.” With that she was gone.

Tony didn’t blame her, he had been promising to finish going through his parents’ things for awhile now. And with the Avengers officially broken up and Pepper taking the lead at Stark Industries, Tony was finding that he had more time on his hands than he wanted to admit. Something Pepper was intimately aware of.

Tony heaved another sigh and pushed open the door to his Father’s office. It looked almost frozen in time. Tony had hardly set foot in here since the accident. The housekeeper had clearly been keeping up with it all these years as the layer of dust he expected to find was conspicuously absent.

After the accident his Father’s lab and everything related to Stark tech had been secured and transported to the main Stark facilities. This was his family office, full of boring paperwork, tax returns, personal letters. Nothing special. Which is why Tony had reasoned it was fine he’d put it off for so long.

Still as Tony strode up to the lavish antique desk that sat back against the floor to ceiling windows he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was walking on sacred ground. He had never been allowed in here growing up, and once he was older and found that his father didn’t store any of the good scotch in here, he had quickly lost interest in trying to infiltrate his father’s self-imposed sanctuary.

He sat in the high backed leather chair and surveyed the desk. It was tidy. A few plaques and fancy pens adorned the top. A photo of his father with Captain America and Agent Carter. Tony rolled his eyes and flipped the frame down on the desk. The last thing he needed was Steve’s gaze scrutinizing him.

It was strange, always a man of the future, the antique style of the desk didn’t fit his Father. Tony leaned back in the chair and considered this. As he sized up the desk he realized something about the dimensions were off, there appeared to be a drawer missing on the lower left. He opened the lowest drawer, based on how deep it was there should have been another underneath. He took out the manila folders neatly arranged in the drawer, copies of titles to different real estate holdings. He knocked on the bottom of the drawer, hollow.

“Maybe this is where he hid the good scotch” Tony muttered to himself as he went about trying to pop the false bottom.

He couldn’t find the release and getting frustrated pulled out his mirco-laser, slicing away the corners and pulling the false bottom out. Sitting there was a small locked box. Tony pulled it out and set it on the desk, puzzled.

He had found all of his Father’s top-secret designs years ago, locked in an intricate safe in the lab. This was different. Hidden in a desk sure, but the security in this office was nothing close to the lab, his Father would never have been foolish enough to leave potentially dangerous plans so exposed. What could it be? He sliced through the lock with the laser and opened the top.

At first glance it didn’t seem like anything special. He reached in and started sifting through the contents. Paperwork about an anonymous donation for an exhibit at the Smithsonian, a contract for a private excavation crew in the Austria, some files about a gravestone in the family plot. Tony's confusion continued to grow as he leafed through the seemingly random assortment of papers. "Why would he hide this?" He thought to himself.

At the bottom of the box there was a weathered letter, worn around the edges it seemed to have been folded and unfolded multiple times. Tony opened it reading the messy scrawl.

_January 15, 1944_

_H-_

_Sorry for the delay, we got hung up in [REDACTED]. Steve says we should be back in about two weeks. The new [REDACTED] you made is working out great. Might give the Star Spangled Man a run for his money. Remember my words._

_Yours,_

_B_

Before Tony could put too much thought into who the letter was from he reached down and pulled out the last thing in the box, a photograph that was face down. In the corner, in his Father’s handwriting was “B, Europe 1943.” He flipped it over and immediately dropped the photo, flinching back as if the image had burned him. There, with a cocky smirk on his face looking up at him, was the Winter Soldier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? This is my first time posting any of my work -- so be gentle with me!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summer 1943**

_Howard_

“Damn.” That was about the only thought Howard’s mind could fully form as the new and improved Steve Rogers was helped down from the Rebirth pod. Howard stepped closer to the now immaculate physique of Rogers.

He felt like his brain was short circuiting, it was a success! The formula and tech worked! Howard’s mind was running a million miles a minute calculating what this would mean for the War, the future of tech, and Stark Industries’ bottom line. But his mind kept skidding off track every time his eyes were met with Roger’s bare, now heavily muscled, sweaty chest. He didn’t blame Peggy for almost reaching out and touching. He had to stop himself from almost doing the same.

However, the euphoria was stunningly short-lived. The explosion. Erskine's death. The chase. It seemed all to happen in a blink of an eye. Howard felt like he had seen the key to the future of modern warfare only to have the universe cruelly pull the rug out from under him. So many years of research, lost. Project Rebirth, dead. His greatest mentor and inspiration Erskine, gone. And to top it off they were shipping him off to the front. Things had gone from bright to bleak in less than 24-hours.

The rollercoaster of emotion from one of the highest points of his career to the lowest made his stomach turn in a way he didn’t want to admit. He compensated with faux-confidence and charm.

“So Peg, are we gonna be roomies over there?” He saddled up to the Agent on the tarmac. “Because as the government’s largest weapon’s supplier I’m sure I can pull a few strings. What do you think, me, you, a room with a view in the French countryside?”

“Mr. Stark, as charming as I’m sure you think you are, I can assure you a burlap sack on the cold ground sounds more appealing,” came her cold clipped reply.

“Aw Peg, you wound me.” He slung his arm around her shoulder. “I may be a no-good Yank but we’re allies and allies have to watch out for one another, and who’s to say that can’t come with a few benefits?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Don’t get familiar Mr. Stark,” Peggy responded sternly, gracefully shrugging off his arm. She turned to fix him with one of her signature icy glares, which Howard had learned early on to bask in. He offered a flirtatious wink and blew a kiss in return.

Peggy broke first, huffing a small laugh and punching him on the shoulder. “Honestly Howard, do those lines actually work on anyone?”

Peggy understood Howard is a way not many others did. From the moment they met she saw through his charm and posturing. She always called him on his comments, and as much as he pretended he didn’t, he appreciated it. 

“Oh Peg, you’d be surprised how little of what comes out of your mouth matters when you’ve got pockets as deep as these.” He said it lightly and meant it as a joke. But as always Peggy zeroed in with sniper-like precision. 

“Howard, there is more to you than just your money. You deserve someone who sees that.”

“Geez Peg, we’re getting ready to ship out, we don’t need to bring down the mood further with a deep dive into the psyche of my dating life,” Howard tried to steer the conversation back to a more lighthearted note. “Which I can assure you is more than satisfying,” he finished with a wink. 

Of course, as always, Peggy had hit the nail on the head. But with everything that had happened with Project Rebirth and staring down the barrel of an undisclosed time on the European front the last thing Howard wanted to think about was his lack of a fulfilling love life.

“But, since we’re on the topic, tell me about your compariots.” He hefted his bag on his shoulder and they started walking towards the transport that was prepping for takeoff in front of them. “Are there any female agents over there that can hold a candle to your looks? We’ve got a long flight ahead of us and I could do with some day dreaming material.”

“Honestly Howard, you’re incessant,” she said flicking his temple.

“What, you’re clearly going to be dreaming about Rogers’ sweaty toned abs the entire time, it’s only fair that I have some similar material to enjoy.”

Peggy’s cheeks flushed but without missing a beat she bit back “Well Howard, if the look on your face was anything to go on I think you can make do with the mental image of Rogers’ abs just as well.”

Howard, for the first time, found himself floundering. “I..I don’t...it was just...scientific observation…” he stuttered.

“Oh surely, scientific observation,” Peggy responded with a smirk. Then she leaned in, her face growing serious. “Howard, we’re allies and while they may not be the benefits you have in mind, just know I’m always here for you.” And with that she turned on her heel and strode confidently on the plane.

Howard had to take a moment. Peggy, was quite a woman. There was a reason she was the best agent the Allies had, people’s deepest secrets played out like a book on their faces that only she could read. He looked up at the sky and silently thanked whoever was looking out for him that he had a friend like Peggy Carter. Whatever the front threw at them, at least he had her.

_Bucky_

Bucky patted down his pockets and cursed, fiending for a smoke. Since landing on the continent in July he’d gone from a few smokes here and there to a half a pack a day. He didn’t want to think what his mother would say if she saw his tobacco stained fingers.

“Damn Barnes, you out already?” McIntosh laughed from his bunk. Bucky looked up just in time for a cigarette to pelt him in the face.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, the cigarette already between his lips. McIntosh jumped down from his bunk and followed Bucky as he made his way outside. McIntosh was a tall gangly kid from Chicago, with coke bottle glasses and a darker sense of humor than London in a blackout. 

“When do you think we’ll be movin’ Sarge?” The question was meant to be off-hand but Bucky could read the anxiety behind it. 

They’d been called up to the front about a week ago. But “getting called up” was a bit of a misnomer, now they were stationed at the US Army encampment less than five miles from the active front. Some strange limbo between the hell of war and the safety of base. Everyone was on edge, just waiting for the order to come down, but all they could do was wait. If there is one thing Bucky learned fast about war, it was there was a lot sitting around and waiting. And mud, there was a lot of mud.

“Dunno.” Bucky shrugged, and that was the God’s honest truth. You’d think as Sergeant he’d be privy to at least a little information but he was just as in the dark as most of the men. But he wanted to give the kid something. 

“Did you see we got some new big-whigs in?” Bucky asked. “The Strategic Scientific Reserve or somethin’, saw them decamp this morning. Looks like they got a pretty good-lookin’ dame with ‘em. You and the boys should go see if you can sneak a look, report back”

With a glimmer in his eye, McIntosh turned back to the barracks, almost skipping. Bucky laughed to himself. A few months without women and these boys were practically frothing at the mouth if they caught a glimpse of a girl’s ankle. 

He was just finishing his cigarette when his concentration was pulled to the main part of the encampment.

“Peg, I’m begging you, my Italian villa isn’t that far, let me stay there. You can come along too, it’s got three pools!” 

“You neglect to mention that by ‘not far’ you mean ‘behind enemy lines’ Howard. It is completely out of the question, we are stationed here. The Army has gone through more than a little trouble to equip you with the lab you need, not to mention more than adequate accommodations for a civilian. I will not have another instant of your whining.” With that she fixed the man with a withering glare.

Bucky observed the exchange with interest. Without a doubt this was the dame he’d mentioned earlier, but now he hesitate giving her that label. Her confident statute, the uniform, and the dressing down she just gave her companion made her unlike any dame he’d ever encountered, even in New York.

The man she was with was just as interesting. He looked like a mirage this close to the front. His suit was immaculate, as was his shiny jet black hair. His movements were in total contrast to the woman’s. While she was restrained and proper, a true British agent, he was loud and expressive. Not to mention his New York accent sent a sudden jolt of homesickness to Bucky’s gut. Bucky looked closer, the man was vaguely familiar in a way he couldn’t place.

With an over-dramatic sigh the man relented. “Fine, fine, Peg you win, for now. But only if you promise that after all this you come take a dip in one of those three pools.” 

In response the woman only rolled her eyes and started towards the main building. The man slowly trudging behind her. As he walked he took in the camp, before Bucky realized it he was looking his way. Their eyes locked.

“Soldier,” the man mimed a lazy salute. 

Bucky couldn’t help himself. “Actually,” he flicked the cigarette away and took a step closer. “It’s Sergeant.”

A smirk played at the man’s lips. “Well you’ll have to forgive a humble civilian like myself, I don’t know much about rank Sergeant…?”

“Barnes.” Bucky supplied. “You must be more than a humble civilian to get yourself this close to the front with that bombshell of an escort.”

“And what makes you think I’m not the one escorting her pal?”

“Howard, get over here this instant! The briefing is starting in two minutes!” The woman called from the front of headquarters.

Bucky just raised his eyebrows and stifled a laugh. “Howard, is it? Seems your babysitter is calling.”

Howard grinned wolfishly. “Well, at least I have a woman yelling out my name Sergeant Barnes.” And with that he turned and leisurely strolled over to the woman who was noticeably tapping her footing in annoyance.

Bucky watched as they ducked into the headquarter building, a strange feeling coming over him. “Howard.” He repeated to himself. Suddenly he was a lot less antsy to get to the front.

###

Bucky wiped his brow. “Damn Italian summer,” he thought to himself. “It got hot in Brooklyn, but this is something else.”

He wiped the back of his hands against his pants and placed his rifle on the table. He was sitting down to disassemble and clean it after target practice when he heard “Sergeant Barnes!” He looked up to see Colonel Philips and the woman that was with Howard earlier striding towards him.

Bucky snapped to attention “Sir, yes, sir?” 

“At ease Sergeant.” Bucky relaxed but continued standing, meeting the Colonel’s gaze.

“Sergeant Barnes this is Agent Peggy Carter of the Strategic Scientific Reserve.” 

Bucky saluted, “Ma’am.”

“Now it is my understanding that while at Fort Hamilton you broke the longstanding sniper record, by a longshot.” He peered at Bucky shrewdly.

“That’s my understanding as well, Sir.”

“And furthermore that upon getting to this encampment, you haven’t missed a single shot in your daily target practice. Is that correct, Sergeant?”

“That is correct.”

“Sergeant, what is the furthest target you can hit with accuracy?”

Bucky thought for a moment. He could tell by the Colonel’s voice that this wasn’t a time to peacock, but the cocky side of him was hard to shove down entirely.

“I’d reckon about 800 yards, Sir.” Sure, Bucky had never shot something that far away, but it was more for lack of opportunity than ability he reasoned in his head.

“Damn son, 800 yards?” The Colonel let out a low whistle. “That’s quite a feat, don’t know if I’ve ever seen a shot from that distance with accuracy. You ever seen a shot of that accuracy Carter?” 

“No, sir. I don’t believe I have,” came the cool clipped reply.

The Colonel smiled, but there was no warmth behind it. It felt like he was setting him up, a cat ready to pounce.

Bucky didn’t want to back down. He shrugged. “Good eyes and steady hands I suppose.”

The Colonel nodded, his smile slowly growing. “Great, now Sergeant, I want you to turn around.” Bucky obeyed. “You see that little green flag, way over yonder?”

Bucky squinted, beyond the range, up against the tree line was a tiny green flag on a pole about four feet from the ground.

“I do, Sir.”

“Great,” the Colonel responded. “Hit it.”

Bucky gauged the flag. It seemed to be at least 900 yards away, maybe more. He knew this was some kind of test, but for what he wasn’t exactly sure. He hefted his rifle from the table. It crossed his mind that the Colonel might be trying to make a point about humility, testing Bucky to see if he knew when to back down. “Fuck that.” Bucky thought silent to himself.

People back home always underestimated him. Well, except for Steve. But Bucky had learned early the amount of things that could be accomplished by sheer force of will alone. If someone told him he couldn’t do something, he’d make damn sure he did it twice.

Bucky took his stance and lined up his shot, peering through the scope. He could feel Colonel Phillips and Agent Carter’s eyes burrowing into the back of his skull. He took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger.

“Sutherland! Retrieve that flag!” The Colonel barked at a nearby soldier.

Sutherland jogged to the end of the range. Bucky fidgeted with his rifle and stole a look at Agent Carter. She regarded him silently, her expression unreadable. Sutherland finally made it back and presented the flag to the Colonel. He unfurled it. There, in the center, was a perfect bullet hole. Bucky couldn't help but crack a grin.

The Colonel looked up. “I guess you think you’re pretty hot shit Sergeant.”

Before Bucky could respond with a comment that would likely get him landed on latrine duty for the rest of his enlistment, Agent Carter cut in. 

“He has demonstrated that his skills are more than adequate for our purposes. Colonel Phillips if you’d be so kind as to put through the temporary assignment, I believe Sergeant Barnes is exactly the candidate we need.”

“Fine, fine Carter. Just don’t let Stark get too carried away.” And with that he tossed the flag to Bucky and walked away.

Bucky caught the flag, eyes following after the Colonel. He turned to Agent Carter with a questioning look. She seemed to read his mind.

“I believe you had the opportunity to meet Mr. Howard Stark yesterday, Sergeant?” Bucky nodded. “He is currently working on weapon improvements and upgrades. Presently, he is focused on a long range rifle that can be used at night. Because of the delicate nature of the calibrations we need a sniper of extraordinary skill to test the models so adjustments can be made.” She stated matter-of-factly. “Word about camp was you are the best sniper,” she smiled, eyes twinkling mischievously. “But you know, I never trust gossip. Had to see for myself.”

“Glad I passed muster.” Bucky replied.

“Flying colors I would say.” She began walking back toward the center of camp, Bucky followed. “As of now you have been temporarily reassigned to the SSR. Please report to the lab below headquarters at 0800 tomorrow where you’ll be briefed.” And with that she confidently strode off.

_Howard_

Howard pulled his goggles up on his forehead, scrambling for a pen. He willed his hand to write as fast as his mind was moving, running through a new set of calculations. Distantly he heard a knock, which he didn’t dignify with a response. He kept furiously writing in his notebook. The knocking grew louder and more insistent.

“Not now!” He snapped. He wanted to get the calculations down on paper before he lost his train of thought. Just as he was down to the last line the door banged open, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Honestly, Howard I don’t know why you insist on knocking when you never answer,” Peggy remarked as she strolled in.

“Science doesn’t stand on ceremony Peg.” He turned back to notes.

“Well I have to admit I’m a little proud you’re on time for the briefing,” she said she picked her way towards Howard's workbench. Carefully stepping over spare parts and raw materials strewn about the ground. 

“Early for what? Hell, what time is it?” He groped around the workbench for his watch that he had taken off hours earlier. 7:47. “Christ…” Howard muttered to himself.

Peggy surveyed his rumpled clothes and slightly bloodshot eyes. Sighing she made her way to the locker in the back that she had stocked with extra clothes for just this occasion.

“I know you have your process Howard, but you really need to try and keep semi-respectable hours. This isn’t your lab to run as you please, it is the Army’s and you need to keep to their schedule.”

Howard yawned, rubbing his eyes he accepted the fresh shirt from her. “Give me a break Peg, I’m working off New York time and besides since we don’t have a test subject I need to work through the theoretical as precisely as I can.”

“Yes about that,” Peggy picked an imaginary piece of lint of her perfectly pressed uniform. “I’ve taken care of it, didn’t you read my memo? That’s the briefing we’re attending.”

Howard rubbed his temples. “Peg, you know I make a point never to read those, I’m allergic to bureaucracy. If they’re important why don’t you just tell me?”

“Howard, its protocol. And besides, just because we’re friends doesn’t mean you get special treatment.”

“Peg darlin’ as my superior you should know that special treatment is the best way to motivate me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she responded flatly. 

Howard tucked in his shirt. “So tell me about this new test subject.”

Peggy picked up the memo from his inbox, that honestly Howard has never even noticed placed on his desk.

“You’re the genius, I’m sure you can read a 1000 word report in the next five minutes while we walk to the briefing room.” With that she started back toward the door.

Howard groaned. He knew Peg was doing it just to irk his nerves, but after pulling an inadvertent all-nighter the last thing he wanted to do was read a memo, then go sit in a briefing room to be told the exact thing he had just read.

Glancing down he began scanning the words, trailing behind Peggy out to the hall. Government reports sure did waste a lot of ink on meaningless words he thought, as he flipped the page trying to get to the information on the test subject. He rounded the corner and ran head first into a soldier standing by the door.

“Geez give a man some warning, soldier!” Howard bent down to retrieve the memo he had dropped.

“I thought I told ya, it’s Sergeant,” came the voice above him.

Howard straightened up, looking back at him was the man he had met upon his arrival, confidently smirking back at him.

“Ah, yes Sergeant Barnes.” He gave the man in front of him a once over with his eyes. “What brings you down to the bowels of the encampment? I can assume it isn’t just sightseeing in the low-watt Army lighting.

At that moment Peggy joined. “Gentlemen, I’m glad to see you’re already acquainted. But for the sake of punctuality, Mr. Howard Stark,” she gestured to Howard. “Sergeant James Barnes.”

“Bucky,” the man supplied and stuck out his hand.

Howard grasped it and shook, feeling the calluses. Before he could say more Peggy ushered them into the briefing room.

Howard’s mind wandered for most of it. He’d pretty much heard everything before. Peggy went over a high-level breakdown of the SSR and specifically what Howard was working on for the Army. She turned to discussing some of what Bucky’s duties would be, mainly testing out the different rifle refits and scopes he was making. 

Howard thought back to the equations he had been working on previously, running through the numbers in his mind. Once he had worked through them, he let his eyes land on Bucky. He looked deep in thought as he listened dutifully to Peggy. There was a softness around his eyes, that contrasted with his sharp cheeks and jawline. Howard found himself wondering what it would feel like to stroke his face.

“ _Jesus Stark_ ,” he thought to himself. “ _Pull yourself together_.” He gave his head a little shake as if to shake the thought from his mind. The time-change and all-nighter were really working on him he reasoned.

“..isn’t that right Howard? Howard?” Howard’s attention snapped back to the room. Peggy and the rest of the room were looking at him expectantly. For a split second, he panicked everyone had heard his thoughts, then realized that was ridiculous. 

“Right, yes, absolutely,” Howard answered, beaming back at Peggy.

Peggy raised a single eyebrow in response. “Well then, we’re adjourned.”

Howard made to get up, he planned on slinking back to his quarters and sleeping at least until lunch. As he made for the door he heard Peggy cough behind him.

“Howard.” He spun around. “Aren’t you forgetting to collect Sergeant Barnes? For the tour of the underground facilities you just so graciously agreed to?” Peggy’s eyes flashed.

Howard sighed. This is what he got for not reading her stupid memo, and staying in the lab all night, and not paying attention during the briefing, and...Howard decided to stop mentally listing his transgressions against Peggy Carter, since the list seemed longer than he wanted to admit.

He pasted a bright smile on his face. “Of course, of course,” he motioned out the door. “This way soldier.” Bucky rolled his eyes but followed him out.

“Thanks _Harold ._ ” Bucky pointedly said once they were both out in the hallway.

A smile played at Howard's lips. “That’s me, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, _Howard_ Stark at your service. I’m sure you’ve never heard of me.” He pretended to dust dirt from his shoulder.

Bucky’s eyes flashed with recognition. Howard smirked, thinking he’d won.

“Right, right,” Bucky said slowly. “I saw your flying car fall apart on stage in New York.” He grinned mischievously. 

Howard let out a frustrated breath. The hover car was a stupid gimmick for the Stark Expo, but the public flop still got under his skin. What irked him more was he still didn’t know why it had fallen apart. Granted, his attention had been pulled to slightly higher grade projects, but Howard wasn’t one to let failure go easily.

Howard wanted to come up with a smart retort, but he was pushing 23 hours with no sleep, in desperate need of a cup of coffee, and something about having Bucky’s eyes fixed on him so intently made his mind fumble.

“Alright, alright, point taken Sergeant. But to be honest I’m not much for titles.”

“Bucky is fine,” he responded. Howard nodded. They lapsed into silence as Howard started down the hall. 

He glanced over to see Bucky taking in the dimly lit hallway with interest. “Most of the communications, strategic and tactical resources are down here,” Howard explained. “Tunnels go pretty far, so try to remember where you’re going. I could probably get you a map but honestly they’re not really worth a damn.”

Bucky nodded in response. “Where are we headed now?” he asked.

“With exception of the lab, the second most important place in this entire encampment.” Howard took a sharp left and pushed open a blast door. 

He swanned over to a gray-haired stern-looking woman who had to be typing at least 200 words a minute on her typewriter.

“Gladys, you are lookin’ mighty swell today. Do something new with your hair? Magnificent really.” Howard confidently leaned on the desk. 

Had it been anyone else, they probably would have received a stapler to the head. But Gladys looked up from her typing and upon seeing Howard, giggled.

“Oh, Howard, stop it.” She swatted his leg. “I know why you’re here, just made some fresh, it’s in the back.” 

“Gladys, as always you are my true savior.” He blew her a kiss and started walking to the back of the room.

Bucky stood there for a moment dumbly, then made to follow Howard. He was standing reverently over a coffee pot, holding the up close to his face. 

“Smell that Bucky?” Howard asked as he approached. Before he could answer Howard let out a pleasurable sigh. “It’s coffee, real coffee. Not the battery acid you get in your ration kit.”

“How…” Bucky started.

Howard was already striding away. “Most important information to ascertain when landing in a new location is who has the best coffee and what it takes to get on their good side.” Howard stepped back into the hallway. “Take Gladys for instance, one box of truffles and now I’m in like flynn, I don’t even think Peggy’s gotten on her good side yet.”

“Uh, doesn’t Agent Carter drink tea?”

Howard choked slightly on the sip he was taking. “Well, technically, yes, but that’s not the point.”

“Right,” Bucky answered, and then after a beat “so the point being…?”

“Ugh, Bucky, seriously you’re killin’ me.”

“Hey pal, you’re the genius here, I’m but a humble sniper.”

Howard rolled his eyes. “Right, speaking of which I should probably show you what I’ve been working on. Maybe you can do some tests while I nap.”

Howard weaved his way back through the intricate tunnels, until they made it to a door mark ‘LAB’ in large block letters. Howard pushed open the door and immediately made his way to the workbench. He set down his coffee and started leafing through his sketches, for the purpose of explaining the new scope to Bucky, as he was about to begin he realized he wasn’t next to him. He whipped his head around. Bucky was staring slack-jawed at the different weapons Howard had strewn about.

“Barnes...Barnes!” He called. “Focus, over here.”

Bucky’s head snapped towards him, and he made his way over to the bench, stopping a few times to admire the different rifles Howard had disassembled on the table. Howard couldn’t help but feel a small swell of pride.

“Got some great toys in here,” Bucky said once he joined Howard.

“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet.” Howard motioned down to the sketches. 

The two of them leaned over the workbench as Howard excitedly began to walk through the design and schematics of the new sniper rifle he was working on. All thoughts of a nap long forgotten.

_Bucky_

Bucky could only keep up with about half of what Howard was saying, he was talking so fast and gesturing wildly. But, his energy was contagious. It almost caught Bucky off guard. Sure he knew he guy had to be smart, but he seemed like a lot of bluster. Now, as Bucky gazed at the sketches, complex formulas and calculations crowding the margins and Howard hardly taking a moment to breathe as he ran through the details, Bucky could see why Howard was at the front.

“So what do you think Barnes? Think it’ll be an improvement?” Howard looked at him expectantly.

“Absolutely,” Bucky answered confidently. In reality Bucky had no idea what exactly Howard had changed, but something in his gut instinctively trusted him. 

Howard beamed. “Great. So as you’ve probably gathered I’ve only been here a few days, so while I think the design is pretty much sewn up, it’s going to take me a few hours at least to mock up a prototype.” He looked at Bucky expectantly.

Bucky shrugged. “I’ve been reassigned here, so I don’t really have any other duties or anywhere else to be. Do you mind if I stay?” The lab was dark and cool, a welcomed relief from the scorching Italian sun. That was the main reason he wanted to stay Bucky reasoned in his mind, to stay out of the sun, not because of Howard.

Howard hesitated. “Uh...well…” Bucky saw a look flash across Howard’s face, but just as soon as it was there it was gone, Bucky thought he might have imagined it. “Sure, sure, fine,” Howard finally relented.

Howard slipped on a pair of goggles and went about collecting materials that were strewn about the room, mumbling to himself as he went.

Bucky surveyed the lab. Seeing a stool shoved against the back wall by a tall locker, he retrieved it and placed it at the far side of the workbench. He settled in, eyes tracking Howard’s movements.

Watching Howard work was almost other-worldly. Bucky had never seen anything like it, equal parts frantic and graceful. The way Howard muttered and moved, periodically stopping to write things in his notebook or re-do his calculations, it was like his own little dance. Bucky was mesmerized. Silence descended on the lab. Bucky rocked back and forth, it wasn’t uncomfortable per se, but he felt the need to fill the air. 

“You know, the Expo was still fun, even if your car fell apart,” he blurted out.

Howard looked up at him strangely. “Uh...right…” he responded.

“Me and my buddy went right before I shipped out. Got him a date and everything.” Bucky shook his head at the memory, smiling. “It was a good send-off from New York.”

“You from there?” Howard asked as he dug through a box of screws.

“Yeah, Brooklyn.” Bucky looked down at the workbench. “Never gone further than Coney Island before shipping out. Figured no need. Used to work hauling boxes down at the wharf. In the colder months when it was slow I’d moonlight as a piano player at some of the portside clubs.”

“You play?”

Bucky shrugged. “Enough to make a few tips. My Ma taught me, she played for the church.”

“They much for gospel tunes down at the port?” Howard asked, one eyebrow raised. “Bucky Barnes, savior of the wayward seafarer's soul.”

Bucky laughed. “As much as I’m sure that was needed can’t say I helped. Mostly played jazz. It was a good gig, haven’t thought about it much since getting to the continent, but I miss playing.”

Howard hummed in response and made some notes in his notebook. “What clubs ya play at?”

“Different ones, I’d fill in when they’re regular band was out. But mostly Pimm’s Cup, Edgewater Pub, and Silver Slipper.” Bucky froze, his blood running cold. The last one had slipped out inadvertently. Granted, Silver Slipper was actually where he played the most, the title a sly reference for other Friends of Dorothy. It was a pretty tight-knit club, and undoubtedly a few clicks below what he assumed was the type of club Howard frequented, but still, his hackles went up.

He thought he saw Howard’s hand falter at the name of the club, but the other man simply nodded and set down his pen and picked up a screwdriver. “We’ll have to see if we can requisition you a piano while you’re over here. God knows the hacks they get for the USO Tour can’t play worth a damn.”

Bucky let out a slow breath. “Yeah...right,” he responded. 

“ _There’s no way he knows Silver Slipper is for queers_ ,” Bucky reasoned to himself. Before he could fully regain his bearings, Howard launched into a long and animated description of the different clubs he’d been to in New York and the quality of their bands. He made no further mention of the Silver Slipper, and Bucky slowly relaxed. 

From there they fell into easy conversation. Mostly just shooting the shit about this and that, they talked about New York and home, and what they both hoped to do after the war. 

It was strange, besides with Steve, Bucky wasn’t much for discussing the whole hopes and dreams business with people. But something about Howard made him easy to talk to, he found himself sharing things he hadn’t even talked about with Steve. His dreams of playing piano full time, maybe even having his own club. Talking with Howard was like slipping into a warm bath after a long day hauling boxes, easing aches and pains he didn’t even know he had.

Bucky watched as Howard’s long elegant fingers delicately adjusted the calibration of the scope, his dark eyes focused on the task at hand, tongue poking out, forehead creased in concentration. Bucky found himself wanting to lean across the bench and kiss the crease away.

Bucky started. “What the fuck?” He breathed to himself. The thought had caught him off guard. Since joining up, he’d done a pretty job of sealing that part of himself off. The last thing he wanted was to get a blue ticket.

“What was that?” Howard called, distractedly.

Bucky coughed. “Nothing.” He looked at the clock bolted to the wall. 12:15, damn he’d been chatting with Howard for close to three hours and not even noticed it. “Do you want to head to the mess, there’s only 30 minutes of lunch left.”

At that moment there was a knock on the door. Before he or Howard could answer Peggy was striding into the room. 

“Howard I wanted to check to make sure you took a break for lunch, oh Sergeant Barnes I didn’t know you were in here as well.” Peggy stopped and threw a puzzled glance at Howard who shrugged his shoulders in response.

The silence continued, it seemed Howard and Peggy were having an unspoken conversation that Bucky couldn't even begin to decipher. 

“Well then,” Peggy drew in a breath. “Sergeant, Howard, lunch?”

“No can do Peg, I’m close on this prototype, want to finish it so Bucky here can take her out for a spin before the sun goes down tonight.” Howard was already slipping his goggles back down on his face.

Peggy sighed. “Right well, I supposed we could requisition an extra meal for you.”

Howard clicked on the blowtorch he was holding, grinning and simply mouthed “special treatment” to Peggy. The meaning of his words lost on Bucky.

Peggy rolled her eyes. “Sergeant, am I right in assuming Howard failed to show you the underground canteen in what I am sure was an informative tour of the premises?”

“That would be correct ma’am,” Bucky responded, sliding off the stool he made to follow her out the door.

“No sardines!” Howard called over his shoulder.

Bucky stepped out into the hallway with Agent Carter. For the second time she silently appraised him with an unreadable look before moving to walk down the tunnel.

“How long have you been in the lab with Howard?” She asked after a few moments.

“Uh, since we got back from the tour after the briefing, so a little over three hours ma’am.” 

Peggy nodded and said nothing. Silently they made their way to the canteen, unlike the mess at the encampment the canteen had pre-wrapped meals similar to C-rations. Bucky sighed, grabbing a helping for himself and an extra for Howard. What he would give for a corn dog from Coney Island right about now. Bucky was pulled from his slow spiral into homesickness by Agent Carter’s voice. 

“Sergeant, you were selected for this position for your exceptional sniper skills.” She paused and pursed her lips. “But I would consider it a personal favor if you wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on Howard as well, he has a tendency to become totally consumed by his work, not eating or sleeping for hours on end. My job is to make sure the SSR continues to operate smoothly, and for that I need everyone in top fighting condition.”

She relayed the information with the cool detachment of a commanding officer, but Bucky could read the concern behind her eyes.

“Of course, ma’am,” he responded.

“Much obliged, Sergeant. Now if you’ll excuse me I have another briefing to attend. If you should need anything during your assignment here, please just send word.” She turned and retreated down a side tunnel.

Bucky made his way back to the lab, pushing open the door. He looked around the seemingly empty space.

“Howard?” he called, shutting the door behind him. A loud crashing sound drew his attention to the back of the lab. “Howard?” he called again, picking his way to the workbench and setting lunch down then heading toward the sound of the crash.

He heard Howard muttering from under what appeared to be an avalanche of boxes. He shifted them to the side, revealing Howard, goggles askew, perfectly quaffed hair finally falling out of place. “You okay?” he asked as he hauled him up.

“This is why I always have people knock,” Howard muttered, mostly to himself.

Howard looked up to meet Bucky’s eyes. A beat passed and neither of them looked away. Bucky absently licked his lips and clocked Howard’s eyes fall to his mouth. Bucky suddenly realized he was still holding Howard’s hand. He quickly dropped it and took a step back. 

“Uh, lunch is on the bench.” Bucky reached up and scratched his neck, trying to look anywhere but Howard. He started to retreat back toward the center of the room.

“What the fuck was that?!” His mind was screaming at him. He felt wrong-footed. Something about Howard’s gaze after looking at his lips was throwing him off in a way he wasn’t used to.

If Howard had noticed anything amiss he didn’t let on. He followed Bucky back to the workbench, talking through the latest re-calibrations he was running as if Bucky could keep up. Bucky grunted noncommittally, trying to just focus on digesting the cured meat and cheese in front of him.

“...so do you mind?” Bucky tuned back into the conversation in time to hear the tail end of Howard’s question.

“Sorry, what was that?”

Howard took a moment to swallow the bite of cheese he had just taken. “I said I ran into some issues with the balance on the new scope, so I think the prototype is going to take a little longer, but I still really want to get some field data on it as soon as possible so we can get the working model up to production ASAP. So do you mind doing some of the tests in the dark?” 

“Yeah, of course, no problem” Bucky answered. Then Agent Carter’s request rang out in his mind. “But, actually don’t you think maybe you should take a break? Get some rest. Didn’t you mention you stayed up all night last night.”

Howard waved Bucky’s protests away. “Honestly, Barnes you sound like Peg. I’m fine. And besides this new weaponry is a priority.” 

His excuse wasn’t exactly convincing, especially given the fact that dark circles were already forming under his eyes. But there was something about the dedication to the war effort, even to the point of personal detriment that reminded Bucky of Steve. For the second time that day, he felt himself become overwhelmed with a sense of homesickness. 

Howard must have taken his silence as assent, because he turned back to his workbench, slipped the goggles back on his face, and got to work.

_Howard_

Normally Howard was loath to let anyone into this lab, let alone watch him work. It made him jumpy and always put him on edge. But something about Bucky’s presence was different. Having him there was almost soothing. And for the first time since the explosion and Erskine’s death, Howard felt a sense of ease as he navigated the lab.

He liked talking with Bucky too, like Peg he seemed to get him on an instinctual level. He threw his cocky bullshit right back at him, a trait Howard appreciated. He was surprised how easy their conversation came. Always one to make light of a situation, Howard didn’t have many heart to hearts with people, really with anyone if he was being honest. There was something disarming about Bucky, how genuine he was, and Howard couldn’t help but mirror his attitude.

He knew Bucky was right, and by extension Peg, as it was clear the cajoling was coming directly from Peg and Bucky was a mere mode of delivery. He needed to rest. But this was as clear-eyed as he felt since Project Rebirth had been shut down and he wanted to make the most of it. A part of him felt like he owed it to Erskine. Erskine had dreamed of using science to end the war, and while Howard may have a somewhat different approach he shared his dream.

But he was only one man, and as much as he blinked down at his notebook he felt himself losing the battle to his increasingly heavy eyelids.

###

He started awake, lifting his head he peeled off the notebook paper that had attached itself to his cheek. He realized he was covered with an Army issue blanket. He pulled it more tightly around himself and sat up, scanning the room. His eyes fell on Bucky, he was gnawing absently at the eraser of the pencil between his teeth and looked deep in thought as he considered some of Howard’s designs.

Howard coughed, Bucky dropped the pencil and looked at him with a small smile. “Sleep well?”

Howard huffed in response and retrieved his earlier abandoned coffee, draining the last few cold dregs from the cup. “What time is it?” His voice was rough from sleep.

“Little past eight.” Came Bucky’s reply. He adjusted himself on the stool. “Got us some dinner from the Canteen.” He gestured to the package of franks and biscuits on the table. 

Howard wrinkled his nose. His mind was still foggy from sleep, he shook his head, trying to dislodge the cobwebs. “Uh…” he started intelligently. 

Bucky looked at him expectantly. Soft crystal blue eyes laced with concern, he knitted his brow together. “Maybe you should call it a night, I don’t mind starting early tomorrow morning.”

Howard started to protest but Bucky was already making his way around the workbench towards him. “Come on,” he coaxed. “You only napped for about two hours, and I’d rather the guy making the precision rifle I’m about to test have had at least one full night of sleep in the last three days.”

He maybe had a point Howard reasoned. “Fine,” he answered. He shook himself awake more fully and let the blanket drop to the ground. “Fine, I’ll give in to your and Peggy’s mother-henning, but plan to report back to the lab at 0500 tomorrow morning. I’ll come in a little earlier and put the finishing touches on the prototype and check everything over. Then we’ll proceed with the test.”

He stood up and turned to go, not realizing how close Bucky was standing. Their faces now mere inches apart. Bucky smelled like tobacco and standard-issue soap, like most soldiers Howard thought. But there was something else there too, something warm and a little spicy that Howard couldn’t place. It was then he realized he was staring, he coughed and patted Bucky on the shoulder moving around him. 

He really needed to get a handle on this lack of sleep situation, his mind was careening off in directions he didn’t have the patience or emotional wherewithal to deal with. Namely trying to place what precisely Sergeant Barnes smelled like and why he found it so intoxicating.

Howard gathered up a few papers from the bench. “0500 tomorrow Sarge, don’t be late.” He didn’t look up from the bench as Bucky made it way around him towards the door. He concentrated on reshuffling his papers to avoid meeting Bucky’s eye.

“0500, see ya then Harold.” The name made Howard look up, ready to shoot a glare in Bucky’s direction but Bucky’s smirking face was already heading out into the hall. Once the door swung shut Howard collapsed back down at his workbench.

“Christ…” he massaged his temples. Back home, before the war, Howard had amassed quite the reputation as a ladies man. It was part of his image, carefully crafted to uphold his sense of mystique. And the papers weren’t wrong, he loved to entertain beautiful women in beautiful locations. What was the point of all his riches if he couldn’t enjoy them, right? 

But that was really just half the story. Howard loved to entertain beautiful people, period. And he’d learned that with enough money in the hands of the right people, he could entertain beautiful men in beautiful locations just as easily. And why not? Men, women, it’d always just been a game to him anyway. A beautiful distraction from the more pressing matters of his research and inventing.

With the outbreak of the war, and all of his focus being poured into Project Rebirth and the SSR there had been precious little time for distractions, beautiful or no. “You didn’t have time for it then, and you don’t have time for it now.” Howard reasoned to himself. Bucky was just another enticing distraction.

And with that he switched off the desk lamp and gathered up the last of his papers, exiting the lab. The sooner he finished the rifle, the sooner Bucky’s temporary assignment would be completed and Howard could focus on the job at hand.

“But…” a small voice in the back of his mind said “isn’t this the most focused you’ve been since the explosion?” 

Howard shoved the thought down only for something Bucky had said early to shoot back up. The Silver Slipper. Howard turned the name over in his mind. He knew it sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite place from where. 

Later that night as he lay in bed he drifted off to sleep with visions of Bucky winking at him from a piano seat.

_Bucky_

Bucky brought the scope up to his eye and adjusted the focus. It was incredible, the previously unidentifiable target was suddenly clear as day, as if it was 100 yards away, not over 1000. He made his shot, confident he hit a bullseye. He set the rifle down and pulled out the notebook Howard had given him, jotting a few notes about the scope, the type of adjustments he made to the focus, and how it felt to shoot overall.

Bucky had to admit, this was a pretty plum reassignment. He and Howard had fallen into an easy routine over the last week. He’d keep Howard company as he worked, then take the different scopes out to the range for a few hours of testing in different light before reporting back and starting the cycle all over again.

Bucky wondered absently how long this reassignment would last. He doubted he would be separated from the 107th once they moved out, and his company had already been here pushing three weeks. Every hour that ticked by he could feel the general sense of anxiety ratchet up a notch among the men. Bucky let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Maybe I can convince Stark to let me take this prototype along,” he thought to himself.

By the time the sun set Bucky had recorded shots at just about every angle of the sun. He packed up the rifle and made his way down to the tunnels. He knocked on the lab’s door, not wanting to set off another box avalanche-like last time.

He heard Howard grunt in recognition on the other side and pushed open the door. Howard was bent over his workbench, soldering iron in hand. He glanced up at Bucky as he entered, setting the tool aside and pulling off his signature goggles. “Back already?” he asked.

Bucky couldn’t help but chuckle. “Howard, it’s 9:15 at night. I’ve been running your tests for close to 15 hours.” The look on Howard’s face told Bucky that he really had no idea that much time had passed.

Bucky handed him the notebook. “All the observations are there.”

Howard paged through the notebook. “You expect me to be able to read this chicken scratch Barnes?” Howard squinted at Bucky’s writing. “I may be a genius but I’m no code breaker.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and snatched the notebook back from Howard. “I don’t know what you’re complaining about, my writing’s clear as day.”

“Says you pal, I’ll have to call in Turing just to read the first line.”

“Fine, I’ll stay and dictate my notes to you.” 

It was the same song and dance every time he came back to the lab to deliver his notes. Howard claiming his writing was unintelligible and Bucky offering to stay and dictate. It was their own unspoken choreography, silently willing the other not to leave, not just yet. 

Bucky shook his head and made his way to his usual stool. Howard made his way back to the soldering iron, slipping on his goggles he began a tirade on the quality of metal the Army had provided him. 

Bucky propped his head on his hand and gave in to just passively listening and watching Howard work. He fought down a smile. There was something endearing about Howard’s nonstop commentary, mingled with the confident way he handled delicate machinery. It was strangely comforting.

“Barnes!” He refocused on Howard, realizing he was asking him something. “I know I put on a good show but check your voyeurism and remember why you’re here. Start reading me off those notes.” There was no venom behind the words, in fact, Howard was smirking at him. All part of the dance.

Bucky rolled his eyes and opened the notebook. He started running through the notes, Howard scribbling new calculations as he went. After about an hour of working through the data, Howard was reassembling the rifle after making some adjustments.

“Alrighty there Sarge, now if you’d be so kind.” Howard popped the last piece into place and gestured towards the rifle. 

Bucky picked it up and peered through the scope. He jumped a little as he felt Howard come up beside him, putting his face next to Bucky’s, taking some measurements as he held the rifle.

Bucky stilled. Howard smelled like fancy aftershave and coffee grounds, mixed with a little grease and something else. Bucky tried to focus on just holding still, but then Howard’s hands came up to Bucky’s shoulders, softly adjusting his stance. He felt Howard’s hand on his temple, slowly tilting the angle of his head. 

“Does that make any difference?” Howard’s breath tickled Bucky’s neck, making him inadvertently shiver. 

“Uh…” Bucky intelligently responded. Fuck if he knew. He probably couldn’t hit Hitler himself if he was 50 yards in front of him the way his brain was short-circuiting. 

Howard shifted closer to him, reaching around Bucky’s other side to tighten the mount of the scope. It was almost like an embrace. Bucky could feel his heart hammering in his chest. Shit, this close could Howard feel it to? Wasn’t that suspicious?

Howard let out a breath. Bucky glanced over to him, his face was right next to his. Clouded in concentration. Bucky went back to looking through the scope. “ _Act normal!_ ” His brain shouted at him. He shifted his grip and hitched the rifle up higher on his shoulder, gritting his teeth.

Finally after what felt like hours, but in reality was probably only about a minute Howard stepped back. Bucky lowered the rifle and looked over at Howard, his eyes cast down, mumbling calculations to himself. Then he looked up, meeting Bucky’s eye.

“Don’t look so concerned Sarge! I think we’re on the right track. Only a few more minor adjustments and these babies will be standard issue to snipers.” Howard flashed a toothy grin and patted Bucky on the shoulder.

“Thanks for all your help today. The feedback really was invaluable.”

Bucky looked down to where Howard’s hand was resting on his shoulder and shot Howard a questioning glance. Howard’s smile faltered as he withdrew his hand. “Right, it’s late so I’m sure you’ll be telling me soon to hit the hay…” Howard busied himself shuffling the papers in front of him, a nervous habit Bucky had picked up on.

Before Bucky’s brain could stop him, his hand shot out taking Howard’s in his. Howard stopped his shuffling and looked at Bucky. Slowly, and with a loose enough grip that Howard could easily pull away, Bucky brought his hand up to his lips and placed a light kiss on the back. Never breaking eye contact with Howard.

Howard’s eyes were dark as he stared back hungrily at Bucky. He freed his hand from Bucky’s grasp and for a split second Bucky thought he was going to punch him in the face. Instead, Howard fisted Bucky’s shirt in his hand dragging him in for a fierce, abet sloppy kiss. Bucky brought his hand up to Howard’s cheek and just as he moved to deepen the kiss he heard a knock on the door. 

The two sprang apart as if electrocuted. Panting slightly, Bucky made to smooth down his shirt. Howard did the same. Then called out “Yes?” sounding almost strangled.

Agent Carter walked in and halted. She looked from Howard to Bucky with a calculated glance. One eyebrow cocked.

“Well shit,” thought Bucky.

_Howard_

Bucky coughed, and before Peg could make a comment he was shouldering around Howard towards the door.

“That it for the night, Howard?” he called over his shoulder.

“Yep, that’ll do it,” Howard responded quickly. “Uh, same time tomorrow morning in the lab.”

“Got it,” Bucky turned to head out the door, before he left he caught Howard’s eye and smiled, which Howard couldn’t help but return.

Peggy cleared her throat, pulling his attention back to her face, which wore a disapproving look.

She sighed. “Howard…”

“Peg, really, it’s not what it looks like.”

Peggy fixed him with a piercing look. “Really? Because it looked like you were about to get the man a blue ticket home.”

“I…” Howard started.

“Howard, I’m your friend and you know I’ll always be here to support you. This close to the front, it’s normal to want to reach out for a little closeness.” She sighed again, he could tell she was weighing her next words carefully. “But you have to realize the privileges you enjoy as the Army’s largest arms supplier and being a billionaire, those privileges aren’t extended the same to enlisted men. Trouble that seems to just slide off you, it could be the end of an enlisted man’s career.”

“Peg, really. I know, and besides it’s not like that. And even if it was,” he relented as she fixed him with a hard glare. “It’s not like anyone comes in the lab besides you!”

Peggy scoffed. “That’s hardly a mathematical certainty Howard. Everyone in the SSR has access to these facilities and I doubt Colonel Phillips would observe your knocking rule.”

Howard slumped down at the workbench as Peggy moved closer.

This time her voice was gentle. “All I’m saying, is you and Sergeant Barnes need to exercise a little more discretion.”

Howard looked up at her, her words catching him off guard. A slow smile spread across his face. “My, my, Agent Carter, I would have never pegged you for the romantic type.”

Peggy let out a small laugh and looked away, her voice distant. “War is hell Howard. I’m of the mind that anywhere we can find a spot of happiness we should hang on to it with all our might.”

###

Howard whistled as he made his way down the tunnel. He slowed as he saw Bucky standing outside the door. 

“Mornin’ there soldier,” he called. Miming a lazy salute.

Bucky turned to look at him. His face stopped Howard dead in his tracks. “What is it?” he asked.

Bucky grimaced, kicking the ground. “The 107th just got their orders, we roll out in four hours. Since the scopes are nearly done, Colonel Phillips released me from my temp assignment to the SSR, I’m going with them.”

Howard motioned to the lab, they walked in, letting the door swing shut behind them.

“Well, guess it's to be expected,” Howard said, voice hollow. “You fellas have been cooling your heels here for close to three weeks.”

Bucky nodded, eyes cast down. It hit Howard then that he and Bucky had really only known each other a short period, but strangely it felt like so much more. Time on the front seemed to obey its own kind of laws, slowing down and speeding up imperceptibly. Bonding you to those around you more strongly than anything he had ever experienced back home.

“I was thinking…”

“About last night…”

They had both spoken at once, they stopped, shooting each other sheepish grins.

“I, uh…” Bucky started. “I just wanted to say, I don’t regret it, last night I mean.”

“Neither do I, Bucky.” Howard responded. 

Bucky’s name felt heavy on his tongue. He knew it was an eventuality that he would get shipped out, but here, in the lab, it had felt like their own little bubble. And sure, they were working on weapons for the war, but somewhere between Bucky’s quiet drawl and the stolen glances they shared as he worked, the war had somehow managed to feel far away.

They stared at each other for a few more moments. The weight of the silence between them slowly growing.

“Well, I should probably get going back to the bunks,” Bucky said softly. “Lot’s to pack up before we head out.” He started to turn towards the door.

Peggy’s words rang out in the back of his mind. 

“Wait!” He called. Bucky stilled, he looked over at Howard. “Uh, just wait here, for one second, back in a jiff.”

And with that Howard scuttled to the back of the lab, going through the locker and rummaging around in a box. He returned to Bucky holding what looked like a mini radio.

“I, uh...this is a prototype design I mocked up and have been making improvements to recently.” 

What he failed to disclose was that it was an entirely new design he had been working on, with tech he invented since about the second day of knowing Bucky. Howard set it on the workbench and Bucky picked it up, examining it questioningly.

“It’s an individualized remote two-way tracker. It’s connected to this device here,” Howard motioned to a larger radio set up behind him. “When it’s activated it’ll send the exact coordinates of your location, along with a short message, almost like a telegram.”

“I just…” Howard stammered. He was bad at this, usually he was able to put up a front of bravado and confidence because he didn’t really care about a situation. That wasn’t the case this time. “Just promise me, if things get hairy out there, you’ll use it. And I’ll make sure only the Army’s finest are sent as your backup.”

Bucky smiled. He set the tracker down and came around the bench. 

“Howard,” he said solemnly, as he reached up and cupped his face in his hands. “Thank you.” Then he leaned in and gave Howard the most devastating gentle kiss he had ever received. And just like that he was pulling away.

Howard caught Bucky’s cheek in his hand, drawing their foreheads together. “Just promise you’ll come back.” he whispered.

“I promise.” They stayed like that for another moment. Breathing each other in, both unable to say the next inevitable word, “Goodbye.”

In the end, neither of them did. Bucky retrieved the tracker from the table and with one final wink and a lazy salute, he was out the door. Howard knew he should go up top to see the 107th off, but when the time came, he just couldn’t bring himself to leave the lab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woof - that was a long chapter
> 
> Couple of notes on period typical slang:  
> Blue ticket - discharge typically used by the military for homosexuality  
> Friend of Dorothy - slang term for gay man


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Trigger Warning* Mentions of torture first 5 paragraphs of Bucky's POV

**Fall 1943**

_Howard_

“Look alive, Agent Carter!” Howard called as he sped by her on his hover scooter, the gust of wind that followed knocking the papers out of her hand.

“Howard!” she yelled.

He turned the scooter back to face her. Powering it down he hopped off to help her gather up the scattered files.

“What on Earth is that thing?” she said as she hurriedly stuffed papers back into folders.

“It’s the latest in hover technology, Peg! I finally overcame the internal balancing and proportion issues that bedeviled me in New York, look at this baby, isn’t she a beaut?!”

Peggy let out a small huff. “And what exactly is this hover scooter’s application to the SSR and helping our boys on the front?”

Howard grinned. “This one was off the clock Peg! Just a little side project for myself, but I would say the applications are limitless!”

Peggy rolled her eyes. “We’re at the front Howard,” she stood straightening her skirt. “Every hour is on the clock.” She eyed the scooter with disdain. “Get that out of here before you have to explain it to Colonel Phillips.”

Howard pulled a face. “But Peg, you know an argument could be made that more efficient modes of transportation around the encampment increases productivity, which in turn is of benefit to the SSR and the war effort!”

“If you would like to make that argument I would be happy to review it in a memo, filed through the proper channels.”

Howard waved his hand “Right, right, I’ll get right on that.” He pulled a folded paper out of his back pocket and thrust it as Peggy. “Once you read this I think you’ll understand my rush.”

Peggy took the paper, unfolding it quickly. It was a USO show announcement for the following evening. In the center of the page, wreathed in a red, white, and blue border was Steve, smiling into the middle distance with a jaunty salute. “The USO is proud to present The Star Spangled Man with a Plan for a thrilling limited engagement as part of his Western Front Tour!” The poster proclaimed.

Peggy looked up a Howard. “Where did you get this? How have I not heard about this?”

Howard smirked. “Honestly Peg, as an intelligence agent I thought you of all people would understand the importance of cultivating a strong backchannel communication network.”

Peggy’s hand shot out, pinching Howard’s arm right between the muscles. He yelped in pain.

“Okay, okay, uncle, UNCLE.” Peggy released her vice grip grasp. Howard pouted as he rubbed his arm. “Alright, fine. I nicked it off Glady’s desk while she was making more coffee, it had just come through. Leaflets got delayed so we didn’t get word of the who was performing until now, but the show’s still on for tomorrow.”

Peggy sighed staring down at the flier again. “Senator Brandt no doubt,” she murmured.

Howard gently knocked into her shoulder. “Aren’t you excited? Get to see your boy toy again?”

Peggy huffed. “Howard, Captain Rogers is not mine and he could hardly be described as a boy.”

“Right, but the stars and stripes outfit does make him look a bit like a toy doesn’t it?” 

Peggy pursed her lips in response.

Howard jumped back on the scooter. “I’m just sayin’ something to look forward to tomorrow. I’ll be sure to save us some seats for what I can only imagine will be a thrilling performance.” And with that he was racing off down the halls.

###

“Who's ready to help me sock ol’ Adolf on the jaw!” Steve’s line was met with a steely sullen silence from mud-splattered men gathered in front of the stage.

“Oof Peg, I’ll admit I had the ulterior motive of making fun of your little sweetheart tonight, but even I’ve got a limit to kicking a man when he’s down.” Howard winced as the soldiers started booing and jeering. It was a cringeworthy sight.

Peggy sighed. “Oh, Steve.” She muttered softly.

“Bring back the girls!” Howard shouted.

“Howard! What are you doing?” Peggy whispered furiously.

“Trust me Peg, those flashy dames are the only thing that can save this sinking ship. I’m giving our boy his only exit strategy.”

Other soldiers joined in “Yeah, bring back the girls!”

A moment later the bright patriotic music started up and the girls came rushing on to the stage. The men cheered while Steve quietly retreated backstage.

Howard turned to Peggy. “Let him lick his wounds then go get your man.”

Peggy let out a frustrated breath. “Howard for the last time, he isn’t MY anything.”

“Hey, you don’t have to convince me darlin’.” With that Howard winked and slid off the bench, making his way back to the lab. 

Halfway there he turned and saw Peggy, who seemed to be having a conversation with herself, give a brisk shake of her head, stand-up, straighten her uniform, and confidently strode off to the backstage area.

Howard smiled to himself. “Attagirl.”

Howard descended the steps under headquarters to the lab. He mentally ran through the list of tasks he hoped to accomplish before sunrise. A fellow SSR scientist stationed in the African front had sent him a curious metal sample that had been recovered in battle. It didn’t seem to match anything currently on the periodic table and Howard was eager to investigate it’s properties further.

He opened the door to the lab and was met with a high pitched beeping sound. Puzzled he made his way further inside, eyes sweeping over the various machines around the room, trying to place where the sound was coming from.

His eyes fell on the radio corresponder behind his workbench. It was the responder for the remote two-way tracker he had given Bucky. There was a transmission waiting. 

“No.” Howard whispered. He stumbled over to the radio, tripping over spare parts and boxes that cluttered the floor in his rush to get to the radio.

He looked at the readout, it blinked red, indicating a distress signal. Howard furiously punched in the corresponding code and a small piece of paper slowly started to print out.

Howard fidgeted. “Come on, come on, come on!” He willed the machine to work faster. As soon as the paper stopped spooling he ripped it from the readout. There was a string of coordinates and the following message:

HYDRA FACTORY MULTINAT POWS

Howard felt the blood drain from his face. He stared at the paper, as if the block letters held some deeper meaning, a different meaning, with a less bleak conclusion. Eventually he shook himself from his trance, gripping the paper he sprinted out of the lab.

The drizzle from earlier had turned into a full on downpour, he ran across camp to the triage tent where Colonel Phillips was running operations. He saw more and more trucks roll up, nurses scurry to and fro tending to wounded soldiers.

His shirt was completely soaked through when he entered the tent, hair matted to his head, and mud caked up to his knees. He rushed to Colonel Phillip’s desk. “Sir, the 107th, they’ve been captured,” he said, panting from the sprint across camp.

Colonel Phillips eyed him coldly. “Yes Mr. Stark, we are well aware. Save what I am sure is a convincing speech. Your little friend Agent Carter and the Star-Spangled Man were just here giving me their thoughts on the US Army’s strategic approach.” Colonel Phillips turned his attention back to the map behind his desk.

Howard sputtered, outraged. “But sir, the location of the POWs…”

Colonel Phillips whirled around, eyes alight. “Mr. Stark, I understand a man of your stature isn’t used to hearing the word ‘no’ but let me spell it out for you clearly. This is a US Army operation, I am in charge of US Army strategic operations at this front, that means my word is law. You are an SSR scientist, you do not offer advice, input, or direction on army strategy. When I need my walkie-talkie battery changed I’ll let you know but otherwise, stay out of my way. Now get out of my tent!” His last words were barked with such ferocity Howard flinched inwardly.

He turned on his heel and marched out of the tent, grinding his jaw. He had to find Peggy, she would know what to do. From what Colonel Phillips said, it sounded like she and Steve were already aware of the situation.

He made his way toward the now abandoned stage area, rounding the corner backstage he almost ran smack into Peggy.

“Peg!” Howard clutched her shoulders. “Bucky…” He trailed off, following Peggy’s concerned gaze to Steve who was staring daggers at the canvas side of the tent as if it had personally offended him.

“We know,” Peggy said softly as she squeezed his shoulders in return. “We’re working on something,” She sighed and dropped her hands to her sides, pacing around the tent. “But even Phillip’s doesn’t know the exact location of the POWs, our intelligence that far behind the line is spotty at best.”

“We can’t just sit here!” Steve ground out.

“Well I may not be the one in tights,” Howard started. Steve turned to glare at him. “But I think I’ve got a plan,” he said holding up the transmission with the factory’s coordinates.

_Bucky_

Pain. Searing pain. It jolted Bucky back into his grim reality. It was like white hot heat was being injected directly into his veins, coursing through every inch of his body, until it found his heart, slowly wrapping him in a barbed wire embrace. He tried to scream but no noise came out, his throat too raw from previous sessions.

How long had he been here? He had lost any conception of time when they were captured. At least when he was in the cells with the others they had some semblance of night and day, if only marked by when they fell into uneasy sleep and when they were awake.

But here, strapped down to the dingy table while Hydra doctors poked and prodded, he had no idea. It could have been anywhere from a few hours to a few weeks.

His entire body ached in a way he didn’t think possible. It was as if his bones were breaking apart and reknitting themselves over and over again. Some endless hellish loop.

Sometimes there was a man, leering over him. A sick satisfied smile on his face as he leaned in. Taking notes and prodding Bucky’s body, taking his temperature, drawing blood, injecting him with God knows what. Bucky tried to screw his eyes shut, to block them out, but the pain allowed him no escape.

This time, he was faintly aware that he was burning up. The sensation grew stronger and stronger. Bucky tried to fight it, until it just became too much. Resigned, he let the heat crash over him, engulfing his entire body and carrying him away to what he could only imagine was Hell.

He blinked awake. Instead of the operating table light looming over him he was looking up at a crystal blue sky. White puffy clouds dotted the sky. A breeze ruffled his hair and his shirt.

Bucky looked down, he was dressed as he had before shipping out, loose button-up shirt, slacks with suspenders. He looked around, taking in his surroundings more closely. He was standing on a grassy hill. The picture of tranquility.

“Am I dead?” Bucky murmured to himself.

“Buck! Bucky, get your ass over here!”

The voice startled Bucky, he looked around trying to place where it was coming from. He turned and almost fell to his knees. There sitting under a large oak on a picnic blanket was Howard. He smiled and waved.

“Come on Buck, the beer’s gettin’ warm!”

“I’m dead, I must be dead,” Bucky said as he slowly made his way towards the tree.

“Howard?” he questioned when he made it to oak. “What are you doing here, where are we, what is this?”

“So many questions.” Howard laughed. “Just sit with me for a bit.”

Bucky didn’t know what else to do so he sat. Howard popped the top off a cold bottle of beer and passed it to him, then opened one for himself.

Bucky stared at the beer, he could feel the condensation as it formed on the outside of the bottle and rolled down on to his hand. 

“I’m glad we could do this, it’s so nice to get away for a bit. We really should come out here more often, the drive though, it takes so long to get out of the city I just don’t know if it’s worth it, maybe we should think of moving again. Somewhere still close to the city but far enough out that we can get away easily…”

Bucky stared at Howard, who seemed not to notice Bucky’s confusion, and continued to ramble on as if this situation was perfectly normal.

While Bucky had no idea what the fuck was going on, Howard's constant commentary was somehow comforting. It was just like when they were in the lab. Something would start him off on a topic and he would just roll with it, talking himself horse.

“...don’t get me wrong the car’s got great mileage, you know I made a few improvements after the fact, it’s just that I don’t know if it is worth the extra weight for the added comfort when you weigh the fact that it can’t get above 70 miles per hour, because let’s face it Buck, if it can’t break 100 is it really driving? I know you hate when I take the turns that fast but…” 

Bucky let Howard’s words wash over him. Just like when they first met, listening to Howard talk was like sliding into a warm bath. Except this time the sheer contentment he felt made him want to sob, although he didn’t quite know why.

He titled his head back, basking in the sunlight, letting Howard's incessant talking surround him in a verbal cocoon. Images flashed before his eyes; coming home from the front together, moving into Howard’s apartment in New York, then moving to his estate upstate, Christmases, birthdays, dinners with Peggy and Steve, riding the ferris wheel in Coney Island, lazy Sunday morning reading the paper.

Was this his life? Bucky shook his head. It felt so real. The beer in his hand, the sun on his face, Howard's wild gestures and lopsided smirk. Howard stopped mid-tirade. He reached out and stroked Bucky’s cheek, “You with me Buck?”

Bucky reached up to take Howard’s hand in his own, but there was nothing there. He was plunged into blackness.

“You with me Buck...Buck?” Howard’s voice echoed and contoured around him. “Bucky? Oh my god!” There was still a voice calling out to him. Bucky flailed in the darkness. Trying to fight his way back, back to Howard, to the tree, to the perfect picnic and perfect life that never was.

He dimly became aware of someone shaking him. He forced open his eyes, which felt like they had been glued shut. There was no blue sky above him, no cold beer in his hand, no Howard waiting for him. Instead Steve’s concerned face swam before him.

“It’s me, it’s Steve.”

“Steve?” Reality came crashing over him again. The war, Hydra, the factory, the table, the pain.

Steve tore at the restraints on the table and heaved him up. “I thought you were dead.”

Bucky took in his lifelong best friend, who somehow was recusing him from a Nazi stronghold on the western front. 

“Yeah...I thought you were smaller.” Bucky weakly responded. 

Was this another dream? What was Steve doing here? And while the voice and eyes were unmistakably the Steve Rogers he knew, he recognized nothing else about his best friend.

Bucky decided that he must still be dreaming but might as well go along with whatever his subconscious had in store for him.

His mind was whirling as Steve half carried, half dragged him out of the operating room. With every step he took Bucky was more and more convinced he wasn’t dreaming but that this was in fact actually happening.

“What happened to you?” he asked Steve.

“I joined the Army,” Steve supplied lamely.

Bucky nodded and focused on holding himself upright on his own, trying to follow behind Steve down the hall. Steve quickly filled him in on Project Rebirth and his last few months.

Bucky thought back to the searing pain he had just experienced and flinched. 

“Did it hurt?” he asked Steve horsely, tripping over his own feet.

Steve grabbed his shoulder, steadying him. “A little,” he responded.

Bucky screwed his eyes shut. Trying to reconcile the scrawny spitfire he’d left back in Brooklyn with the hulking specimen in front of him.

“Is it permanent?” 

“So far,” Steve answered seemingly preoccupied. He darted around a corner, racing towards the sound of explosions.

Charging directly towards danger. Well, Bucky thought, at least some things had stayed the same. He sighed and followed as quickly as he could.

###

They marched back to camp silently. It was a long slow slog traversing thirty miles of enemy territory with over four hundred men in tow. The fight they put up at the factory must not have gone unnoticed, Hydra pulling back accordingly, as they met no resistance on their way back. 

“Super soldier, huh?” Bucky remarked as they marched.

“That’s what they tell me.” Steve replied. 

“I guess I shoulda known you’d find your way to the front one way or another. I just never would have thought my best friend would turn into some kind of superhero.”

Steve laughed quietly “Buck, I’m not a superhero.”

“You’ve even got a superhero name, Captain America,” Bucky continued, ignoring Steve’s weak protest.

“And look!” He pulled at Steve’s ripped uniform. “You’re wearing tights! Just like those old comic books we would read during recess.”

“It’s not...they aren’t tights…” Steve responded sheepishly.

Bucky shook his head, sighing. Part of him was furious with Steve for showing up here, joining up at all. But another part of him, was so fucking glad to have his best friend by his side. Nothing on the front made sense, but at least with Steve he knew he could get through just about anything it would throw at them.

“I’m glad you’re here punk.” Bucky knocked Steve's shoulder as they continued to march. “Guess there’s enough stupid on the front for the two of us.”

Steve turned and grinned at him. Bucky wanted to return the gesture, but found he couldn’t will the smile to reach his lips. Instead he just focused on trudging ahead, trying to shake the nagging feeling that he’d left a part of himself back in Hydra’s lab.

_Howard_

“Howard,” Peggy spoke softly from behind him. “You need to get some sleep, it’s been almost three days.”

“Not now!” He didn’t mean to snap, but couldn’t she see how important this was? He’d been obsessing over the transponder he had given Steve before the drop. He was supposed to signal for a pick-up. But the transponder remained silent, stoically mocking him.

At the end of the first day, after getting fed up waiting passively, Howard had gotten it into his head that the signal may not be strong enough. He’d thrown himself into building a signal magnifier to attach to the transponder. Maybe Steve had to go deeper behind enemy lines than the factory, maybe he too had been captured and transported elsewhere with the other POWs. With every hour that crawled by Howard came up with new tragedies that had possibly befallen Steve, each more horrific than the last.

He was dimly aware he was losing the admittedly already somewhat loose grasp he had on reality. Peggy refused to let him fly additional air recon, claiming his sleep deprivation made him an unfit pilot. Howard put up a bitter fight, even though he knew deep down she was right.

But he couldn’t do nothing. Bucky needed his help, he was depending on him. When he gave Bucky the tracker, he had made a promise. He scrubbed his hands across his face, trying to organize the tempest of thoughts raging around his mind. He couldn’t let Bucky down.

This was new territory for Howard. Ever since he was a kid he had been alone. His parents died when he was young, leaving him to find his own way. He’d never relied on anyone else, and no one had relied on him. He’d built himself and his empire up from nothing. 

For all his charm and experiencing entertaining, he’d kept everyone at an arm’s length. It was just easier that way Howard reasoned. Emotional attachments were distractions. Peggy was the closest person he could truly call a friend. And while her perceptive nature meant she knew more about him than probably anyone else, he still kept his guard up around her.

But Bucky...Bucky was different. This man who came into his life almost it seemed by accident, who he had known only a short time and in the shadow of war. He had changed everything for Howard. Bucky wasn’t just another distraction.

In the days since the 107th had left the encampment, Howard had felt Bucky’s presence everywhere. He left his stool untouched in his lab. Late at night he would look over the field notes Bucky had complied, slowly tracing his finger over Bucky’s messy scrawl.

Before bed he would imagine what it could have been like if they had met before the war. Or some nights when he was feeling extra hopeful, he would imagine the life they could have together after the war, when they both were home safe.

He’d buy Bucky a grand piano and have it placed in his penthouse that overlooked the New York skyline. He figured Bucky would like that. Howard would drift to sleep each night, the quiet strands of Bucky’s imaginary playing lulling him to sleep. It was the closest he felt to peace in a long time.

“Howard, Howard!” Howard jolted upright, he hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep. He looked around bewildered. Gladys was standing at the door of the lab. “They’re back, Captain Rogers and the rest of the 107th, they’re back!”

Howard didn’t need to be told twice. He scrambled out of the lab and up to the encampment. He could hear the cheering and commotion before he made it outside. Soldiers were pouring into camp, led by Steve. By his side was Bucky, looking a little worse for wear, but very much in one piece. Howard let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Bucky had made it back, he was okay.

As Steve exchanged words with Colonel Phillips, Howard pushed his way into the crowd, fighting to get to Bucky.

“Let’s hear it for Captain America!” Bucky shouted and a cheer went up across the crowd.

Howard darted through the jubilant crowd, but a nurse beat him to Bucky’s side. “Where are you hurt?” The nurse asked, clipboard in hand, ready to take down a full list of injuries.

Howard saw a slow thoughtful smile spread across Bucky’s face, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I don’t hurt anywhere ma’am.”

With that he caught Howard’s eye and shouldered his way around the nurse, who had turned to speak with another soldier.

“Bucky,” Howard whispered as he grasped his shoulders. Their eyes locked and the cheering crowd seemed to fall away. It took every ounce of restraint Howard had from taking Bucky’s face between his hands and pulling him into a kiss.

A nurse jostled passed them on her way to help more of the injured. The trace broken, Howard slammed back into reality. He cleared his throat and stepped back slightly, but he couldn't bring himself to let go of Bucky’s arm.

Bucky seemed to regain his senses at the same time, kicking the ground he smirked. “So a crazy kid from Brooklyn in tights s’your idea of backup huh?”

Howard grinned. “Only the Army’s finest.”

_Bucky_

Howard pushed the door open to his quarters, which were a small adjacent room off the lab.

“When I told the Army I would come over and run the SSR lab here, I specified the need for my own water connection, you know, for science.” Howard grabbed a small pitcher and started filling it with water.

Bucky heaved himself facedown on Howard’s bed with a small groan. He didn’t think he had ever felt something more comfortable than a US Army issue cot. He was pretty sure if left alone he could sleep for three solid days. He was faintly aware of Howard speaking in the background.

“And while sure, it has come in handy during some of my experiments, we both know Army showers are for the dogs.” Howard looked over a Bucky and winked. 

He poured the water into the basin and grabbed a bar of soap, definitely not standard Army issue.

“Come on Buck, I promise I’ll let you sleep as long as you want, and even try to stave off Peg for your debriefing as long as possible, but you’ve got to at least attempt to get one layer of that grime off.”

Bucky made a noncommittal sound, but slowly rolled over on his back. Then raised himself up on his elbows. He knew he was acting childishly, but now that he was laying down, he honestly didn’t think he had the strength or willpower to get up again.

Howard stared back at him expectantly. Finally he signed, shaking his head he walked towards Bucky. “I swear Barnes...” he said quietly.

Howard worked his worn green shirt off over his head. Bucky was content to just play rag-doll. Personally he was proud of himself just for sitting up for this long, when there was a perfectly good bed just beckoning him to sleep.

Howard slowly started working the cloth over Bucky’s chest, over his shoulders and down his arms. The water turned brown almost instantly. Howard refilled the pitcher several times, slowly working the cloth over Bucky’s entire body.

Bucky sighed, he was still in need of a good night’s sleep, but was starting to feel slightly more human again.

Howard was working down the inside of his arm, when he stopped. Bucky saw a concerned look cross his face and followed his line of sight. Howard was gently pressing along the crook of his elbow. 

“Bucky, these marks…” Howard started then trailed off, tracing the puncture marks gently with his fingers. “Did they inject you with something?”

Bucky shrugged his arm out of his grasp. “I don’t know, I think it was just something to knock us out when they transferred us to the cells.”

He didn’t want to lie, but he also wasn’t ready to talk about the table, the pain, what it could potentially mean. Besides, if he told the whole story about the torture at his debriefing they’d send him back stateside for sure. Then who would stop Steve from doing stupid shit like storming a fortified Hydra base by himself? No, it was easier if he just kept it to himself.

“So Steve, Project Rebirth, that was you?” Bucky asked. Desperate to change the subject, but also genuinely curious.

“Tangentially yes,” Howard answered as he dumped out another bowl of dirty water and refilled the pitcher for the umpteenth time.

“Dr. Abraham Erskine was the genius behind it all. And you know I don’t use that word lightly. Human anatomy, genetic coding, psychopharmacology, none of that is my forte. Erskine developed the serum. They brought me on for the technical underpinnings, mainly the rebirth pod.”

“Rebirth pod?” Bucky questioned.

“It was to help the injection go more smoothly. Temper the body’s reaction. The serum literally tears apart the cells and rebuilds them. Without the pod…” Howard stopped and shook his head. “Not to exaggerate my importance, but without the pod we couldn’t do the procedure. The pain would be excruciating for the subject, I’m not sure someone could survive the injections without it. Even someone with the conviction of Steve Rogers…”

Bucky stared at the floor, turning over what Howard had said in his mind. _“The pain would be excruciating...tears apart the cells and rebuilds them…”_

Bucky tuned back into to Howard talking just in time to catch the end of what he was saying.

“...When you talked about your scrawny friend from Brooklyn who didn’t know how to back away from a fight, I never imagined you were talking about Steve.”

“Yeah,” Bucky answered distractedly.

Howard turned to him. “Well I wouldn’t exactly call you clean but you can probably crawl under the covers without me having to burn them afterwards.” Howard dumped the last of the dirty water away. “I’ll let you get some sleep now and I’ll nick a few extra rations from the canteen, for when you feel up to eating.”

Bucky didn’t have to be told twice. He simply slumped over, burying his face in the pillow. He smiled slightly when he realized it smelled exactly like Howard.

Howard lingered in the doorway a beat. “Bucky...I’m glad you came back. I missed you,” he paused. “I don’t know what I’d do with myself if I’d lost you,” he finished gently.

Bucky cracked one eye open and smirked. “Well I promised didn’t I?” He huffed as he rolled over. “Can’t get rid of me that easily Stark.”

He heard Howard quietly make his way over to the bed. After a moment he leaned down and kissed Bucky on the cheek. Bucky grabbed his hand to keep his face close to his.

“Thank you, for saving me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, your comments mean so much. Desperately trying to stay creative whilst in quarantine, hopefully that will mean next update is sooner rather than later.


	4. Chapter 4

**Fall 2016**

_Tony_

Tony stood back, staring at the array of papers he had arranged on the top of his father’s desk, trying to take it all in. Make it make sense. 

The Winter Fucking Soldier. Why? How? Tony let out a frustrated grunt. It didn’t make any sense! Why would his father have an old wartime picture of his assassin hidden away in a locked chest in the bottom of his personal desk?

He tried to think back to the briefing Rhodey had given him on the flight to Germany before the airport fight, straining to remember what he could about the Winter Soldier. His real name was James Barnes, he had been Steve’s best friend growing up and had served together in WWII. He was one of the members of the Howling Commandos, the only one to have died in active duty, or so everyone at the time had thought. 

Tony was fuzzy on the rest of the details, his thoughts clouded by the rage that had slowly turned to heartbreak following the events that had quickly unfolded after that fateful briefing.

Tony gingerly picked up the photograph. _B, Europe 1943_. He could tell it was his father’s neat cursive writing on the back. So, not only had his father served with Steve but the Winter Soldier too. Tony slowly started to unpack the thought. It made sense, his Dad had always yammered on about the innovative tech he had come up with on the front lines for Captain America. By extension that had to include the Howling Commandos, and therefore the Winter Soldier. 

He slowly flipped the photo over again and scrutinized the face. It was unmistakably the Winter Soldier. Tony would forever have his icy detached stare burned into his mind at the memory of him digging his metal fingers into his arc reactor in the Siberian bunker. His chest ached with a phantom pain at the thought.

Tony tried to reconcile that cold stare with the expression the man in the photo wore. Was this the man Steve saw when he looked at the Winter Soldier? 

Cocky grin, cigarette raised halfway to his mouth, sniper rifle carelessly slung over his shoulder. Even in the faded black and white photo his eyes danced with mischievous laughter, like he was in on a joke no one else knew about quite yet. 

He actually looked _happy_. An emotion Tony had assumed was a foreign concept to the man known as the Winter Soldier.

Tony put the photograph down again, scrubbing his hand roughly over his face. Part of him was inclined to just gather up all the papers, shove them back in the box, and forget all about it. 

He had spent so much of his life thinking he knew the man his father was. Cold, calculating, silently seething at the disappointment Tony had turned out to be. Then a few years ago Fury showed up with a trunk of his Dad’s energy schematics and an old Kodak reel of his dad telling him _he_ was his greatest creation.

It seemed like every time he thought he knew the man he thought his father was, he found another layer to peel back revealing a picture in total contrast to what he had come to know.

The meaning of the box nagged at his mind, no, he couldn’t just forget about this. If there was one thing Tony hated, it was the feeling that he didn’t understand. The problem solver in him took over. What do you do when you don't understand a given phenomenon? You got more data. That’s what he needed. Data.

“FRIDAY,” his voice rang out in the quiet office. “Scan all of these papers into our database, then pull up the briefing on the Winter Soldier.”

“Of course, sir,” came the AI’s smooth reply.

Tony thought for a moment. “And comb through Widow’s dump of SHEILD info, pull anything that mentions the Winter Soldier or James Barnes and highlight anything that has my father’s fingerprints on it.”

“Pulling information now Sir, there isn’t a lot here.”

“Whatever you can find, nothing too small,” then after a moment. “And FRIDAY use that backdoor to the Pentagon archives we built a while ago, pull Howard Stark’s service record along with James Barnes.”

FRIDAY’s remote interactive projector flashed to life. Digital copies of the files started to amass in front of Tony. He began skimming through them, unsure of exactly what he was looking for. He started reading over his Father’s war record. Summer 1943 he had been shipped to the Western Front, station at an SSR outpost in Italy. 

He grabbed Barnes’ file and skimmed through it, sure enough the 107th Infantry had also been stationed in Italy the summer of 1943. There was a short notation on Bucky’s file “temp reassignment to SSR, prototype test subject.”

“Bingo,” Tony said. “FRIDAY pull Dad’s SSR field notes from the second half of 1943.

“I’m sorry sir, those files were never digitalized.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean sir, I’ve found reference to such notes in the Stark Industry’s archive, but the only way to access them are the physical files.”

“Right…” Tony thought. “Guess we’ll have to take a field trip.”

He pulled out his phone and dialed Pepper. Hardly waiting for her greeting when she picked up. “Pep, what storage facility are my Dad’s old field notes circa WWII stored?” he said in a rush.

“Uh, most likely the low-security facility in Jersey. Why? I already arranged a service to come pick up the things you sort through Tony, you don’t need to drop them off yourself.”

“Right yeah I know,” Tony said distractedly as he programmed the address of the Jersey storage facility into his Stark phone. “There’s just a few things I want to check on, some loose ends Dad left.”

“Loose ends...from 1991?” Pepper said slowly. “Tony are you alright? Maybe I should have come with you…”

“No, Pep, really I’m fine. Just some paperwork I want to track down.”

“Paperwork, really?” Pepper said skeptically.

“Yeah you know, just trying to be thorough, if you’re going to do something, do it right, all that jazz,” Tony replied hurriedly.

Pepper knew better than to press when Tony got into one of his moods. Death itself couldn’t dissuade him once he got his teeth into something. He’d never rest.

“Alright,” she said. “But just let me know if you want me to lend you a hand. I can push this afternoon meeting.” 

“Will do, might be late, uh don’t wait up.” And with that Tony snapped the phone shut, grabbed the photo off the desk, and made his way out of his Dad’s office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had mostly planned to write this story linearly, but shakyprashu's comment got me thinking it might be fun to mix it up a little. Tony's POV chapters will likely be shorter in comparison to the others. Let me know what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

**Winter 1943-44**

_Howard_

Howard pulled his peacoat tighter around him and quickened his pace. He had mixed feelings about being back at SSR headquarters in London. Sure the facility was far superior compared to the hovel they had him working out of at the Italian front, but he’d take an Italian winter over the cold damp bite of London any day.

He flashed his credentials and made his way to the covert elevator that would take him to SSR’s offices deep below London’s bustling streets.

Steve’s daring rescue had proved his mettle on the front. Shortly after his triumphant return, they had all been packed up with orders to head back to headquarters for a new assignment: the Howling Commando unit. Captain Rogers would lead a handpicked few with the sole purpose of wiping Hydra off the map. 

Howard had been commissioned to design and furnish the elite unit with a range of cutting edge weaponry. Normally Howard would object to being made anyone’s lackey, but even by his standards, it was a pretty sweet gig. It let him indulge his mad scientist side. He didn’t have to worry about making weapons that could be scaled up to outfit an entire regiment, instead every piece was a custom job. Meaning the only limit was his imagination and the raw materials he could get his hands on.

Entering the lab, he shrugged on his white lab coat and slipped on his goggles, excited to finish examining the weaponry Steve had recovered from the Hydra factory. The preliminary analyses he conducted had shown unexplainable anomalies. Either he’d run the test wrong or Hydra had uncovered something seemingly otherworldly. 

Lost in thought he didn’t notice Bucky silently perched on a stool at the other end of the workbench.

“Do you really need those goggles or do you just like dressing the part of a mad scientist?” Bucky drawled.

Howard jumped a foot in the air. “Bucky! You have to give a man some warning, you never know when sudden movement will cause an explosion in here, these samples I’m examining are very unstable!”

“Do you keep those unstable samples just laying around?” Bucky asked, eyes sweeping over the messy workbench. “On second thought don’t answer that, no more surprises, I promise.” He solemnly laid his hand on his heart and raised his other hand in a mock boy scout salute.

Howard rolled his eyes. “Menace,” he murmured but was smiling. Bucky’s serious look quickly dissolved into a smirk.

“So what are you working on?” Bucky asked, rocking forward on the stool.

“I’m sorry do you not have somewhere you should be? Other than annoying me that is?”

“Oh definitely, why else do you think I’m holed up here? No one will come look for me here, too high of a chance of setting off rouge explosives.” Bucky winked.

Howard didn’t actually want Bucky to leave. After Bucky’s rescue, and Howard’s quiet confession the night he got back, they both had felt something shift between them. However, instead of acknowledging it, they had both silently resolved to just slide back into their old banter, subtly dancing around one another. Given their return to base and being almost constantly surrounded by other members of the SSR, it was probably for the best. 

Howard wanted more, but he also knew better than to push his luck. He figured he was lucky enough to have Bucky back in one piece. So while restraint wasn’t normally his strong suit, he was doing his best.

At that moment Peggy came bustling into the lab.

“Howard, we need you to move up the timeline for production, Colonel Phillips wants the Howling Commandos ready to ship out by the end of the week.” She looked up from her clipboard, eyes falling on Bucky. “Ah, Sergeant Barnes. I thought you were supposed to be finishing your debriefing on the second floor,” she looked at Bucky expectantly.

Bucky grinned sheepishly. “Right, I was just leaving. Just, uh, putting in a request for some gear to Howard.”

Peggy raised one of her perfectly arched brows, but said nothing, eyes burrowing into Bucky. 

“So...I’ll just...Howard you, uh, you got all that?” Bucky got up and slowly backed away.

Howard waved as Bucky quickly retreated from Peggy’s blistering gaze through the lab doors.

He sighed, dropping his hand. “Honestly Peg, why do you have to torment the poor man like that? I think I am the only one here that has built up an immunity to your death glares, you really have to use them more sparingly.”

“Call it payback for your fondue comment to Steve!” she snapped.

Howard rolled his eyes. “Come on Peg, it’s just so easy to get him riled up, can you really blame me?”

“Yes!” Peggy hissed. “And besides it would behoove you and Sergeant Barnes to exercise a little more discretion.”

“What are you talking about?” Howard balked. “We are being completely normal! Just two red-blooded American boys hellbent on taking down the Nazis!”

“Right, and how many other red-blooded American boys do you let sit in your lab at all hours, day and night, quibbling back and forth with?”

Howard opened and closed his mouth, momentarily at a loss for words.

Peggy closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Howard, look, really I’m not trying to be difficult. I care about you, and Sergeant Barnes for that matter. But you know the SSR and US Army would not be as supportive or understanding as I am about…” She waved her hand in the air. “Whatever...this is. You need to be careful.”

“Fine, next time I see Bucky I’ll be sure to tell him to flirt with you in front of the boys. As a bonus maybe he can even do it in front of Steve to make him a little jealous,” Howard bit back.

It was Peggy’s turn to roll her eyes. “Howard, stop being a petulant child. You know I’m right.”

Howard refused to meet her gaze. Instead, he focused on reshuffling the papers on his desk. She was right, he just didn’t want to admit it. Headquarters wasn’t like the Italian front. There were too many people, too many eyes, and with the distraction of the chaos of war a little more removed, people were paying closer attention.

“Which is why,” Peggy started again gently. “I’ve had Sergeant Barnes’ quarters reassigned to the lower east wing.”

Howard momentarily stopped shuffling his papers and looked up at Peggy. That’s where his quarters were. She wore a small smile.

But Howard wasn’t done being cross with her yet. “And how is that less obvious?”

Peggy shrugged. “We’re constantly shuffling people around, trying to accommodate new recruits and transfers. Colonel Phillips leaves the more administrative details of running the base to me, I have final sign off.”

Howard again found himself at a loss for words, but for a different reason. “Thank you, Peg,” he replied eventually.

“Yes well, someone once told me that special treatment was the best way to motivate you and this Howling Commandos assignment is going to require a lot of focus.” She smiled slyly. “So can you meet the new deadline?”

Howard grinned. “Have Rogers come by tomorrow, I’ll have a whole array of prototypes mocked up by then.

Peggy turned to go, then hesitated. “You know I’ll deny this if you ever mention it,” she said tightly. “But perhaps you should still suggest to Sergeant Barnes he flirt with me in front of Captain Rogers.” Peggy’s cheeks were tinged pink and she didn’t quite meet Howard’s gaze.

Howard smirked. “Whatever you want, Agent Carter.” 

_Bucky_

Bucky jogged to catch up with Peggy outside the pub as she confidently walked back towards SSR headquarters in her red dress.

“Agent Carter!” he called.

She stopped and turned, smirking slightly.

Bucky came to a stop by her side. “I trust that was up to your standards?”

Howard could hardly keep a straight face when he relayed Peggy’s request to him earlier that afternoon. Ever the dutiful wingman Bucky agreed. Besides, Bucky figured Steve could use the boost to his ego, especially after Howard gleefully recounted his fondue comment.

Peggy smiled. “Yes, thank you for indulging me, Sergeant Barnes.”

He shrugged. “Thank you for getting me that new room assignment.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said as she started walking again.

Bucky fell into step next to her. A few moments passed in companionable silence. “Steve might not be the sharpest when it comes to affairs of the heart, but for what it’s worth I’ve never seen him look at another woman the way he looks at you.”

Peggy hummed in response. Then after a moment replied, “You know, I would say the same sentiment goes for Howard and the way he looks at you.”

They walked the rest of the way back to SSR headquarters in comfortable silence. Taking in one of the few quiet nights London had to offer.

###

Bucky opened the door to his newly assigned room. It looked largely the same as his previous accommodations. Single cot, a small dresser, and a table with a chair and lamp. At least joining up with the Howling Commandos had its perks, like being out of the barracks, he thought to himself as he made his way into the room.

He shrugged off the scratchy olive green jacket, he was about to pull out a clean white undershirt when he heard a knock at the door.

He opened it to find Howard leaning against the frame. He didn’t wait to be invited in, instead he gracefully brushed pasted Bucky like he owned the place.

“Thought it was only right of me to welcome my new next door neighbor,” he drawled as he took a seat in the chair, kicking his feet up on the desk and throwing his hands behind his head. He smirked at Bucky as if taunting him to chastise him for his brazenness. 

If Bucky had learned anything about the art of flirting with Howard, it was to always go in the opposite direction. Instead of laying into him for making himself at home in his room, he simply let the door swing shut and turned to face him.

“Yes, well I did request a full welcome package, hope it doesn’t disappoint.”

He was suddenly conscious of the fact that he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and if the look on Howard’s face was anything to go on, he was fully appreciating that fact as well. He felt his eyes rover over his bare chest. The piercing gaze alone was enough to raise goosebumps on his skin.

Bucky could feel anticipation settle into the room. Like a drum pulled tight, the last few weeks of dancing around each other seemed poised to snap. Neither of them spoke, Bucky wasn’t even sure he was breathing. They both seemed to be holding their breath.

Their eyes locked, a silent contest to see who would break first. Bucky drank in the view in front of him. Howard’s hair was somehow still as maddeningly perfect as it was the first day Bucky had laid eyes on him in the middle of the Italian encampment. 

Bucky couldn’t help but smirk slightly as his eyes traveled over Howard’s face. He had clearly come straight from the lab, there was still the faint impression on his cheeks left by his goggles and a smudge of grease on his temple. His normally starched shirt was wrinkled and rolled to his elbows, suspenders carelessly slung off his shoulders.

Howard shifted slightly in the chair, and before Bucky knew what his feet were doing he had closed the distance between them. He roughly pulled Howard’s feet off the table. The moment they hit the ground, Bucky straddled him, grasping the hair on the back of his head, determined to finally mess up his artful quip, and drawing his face up to meet his own.

Howard’s dark eyes danced with desire as Bucky leaned down into the kiss. The moment their lips met, Bucky felt a shock shoot through him. This was nothing like the short gentle kisses they had shared in the past, this was hungry, messy, carnal. Weeks of desire poured into a single kiss. The heavy weight of anticipation in the air changed, the room now crackled with electricity.

He deepened the kiss, trying to chase Howard’s tongue with his own. Desperate to memorize the way Howard tasted. 

Howard’s hands snaked around his waist and hitched him up higher on his lap, pulling him closer. Bucky smoothed his hands down Howard’s sides, feeling his lean arm muscles under his shirt, then back up, cupping the sides of his face.

Bucky broke away from the kiss, panting. Howard looked back at him, eyes blown wide and lips slightly puffy. Bucky leaned in again, basking in the smell of his fancy aftershave and the sour hint of grease that stuck to him. 

He bent around Howard’s face and ran his tongue down Howard’s neck, going back to nibble lightly just below his ear. Howard let out a breathy sound that served only to urge Bucky on. 

With a sudden intake of breath, Howard stood up, hoisting Bucky along with him, and took two steps towards the bed, then threw him down on his back.

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh. “Damn, Stark, you’re stronger than you look.”

Howard just smirked. “I think you’ll find that I am full of surprises Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky sat up on the bed and reached for the buttons for Howard’s shirt. Slowly his fingers gently worked each one open. He could feel Howard’s eyes watching him. Finally, when the shirt was undone, Bucky slowly slid it from Howard’s shoulders, leaving him in his thin undershirt. Bucky lightly grabbed the seam and worked the undershirt off over Howard’s head. 

Howard’s skin was warm to the touch, his chest rising and falling with each deliberate intake of breath. Unlike his hands, which were rough and blistered from working, his chest was maddeningly smooth, like cashmere. Bucky traced his fingers over his pecks, down to his soft stomach, where the ghost of his ab muscles were just visible. Howard drew in his breath sharply and stepped back slightly.

Bucky looked up at him with a wicked grin. “Ticklish?”

“I’m not dignifying that with a response,” Howard said tightly, squirming further away from him. 

“No tickling tonight, I promise,” Bucky laughed quietly as he gripped Howard’s hips and pulled him back towards him. 

Slowly he undid Howard’s belt, as Howard stepped out of his pants Bucky quickly undid his own. Howard stood over him, Bucky roughly pulled him down on top of them. Their bodies awkwardly crashing together on the twin cot, but it didn’t matter. 

Howard met Bucky’s lips and breathed his name. Bucky’s hands wander across Howard’s body, searching out every smooth expanse of skin, every sharp edge, every soft swell of muscle. He yearned to learn every detail of the man he had spent every night thinking of since the first time they spoke. 

Howard deepened the kiss and Bucky kissed him back as if it was his last night on Earth. As if his embrace could make the last month disappear, erase the phantom pain in his chest that had been there since the factory, cut through the war closing in on them.

Howard slowly kissed down Bucky’s chest, his hands previewing his mouth’s trail as they slowly drifted lower and lower. Bucky cradled his head as Howard looked up at him from below his navel. Slowly his hand grazed over his fully erect cock. 

Desire coursed through Bucky with a ferocity he had never felt before. Howard smoothed his hand lower down Bucky’s thigh. Bucky closed his eyes, it was too much, he felt like a spring that couldn’t possibly be wound any tighter. Every gentle teasing touch of Howard’s calloused hands sent another wave of electricity through him. Bucky’s body thrummed with anticipation, he shivered, glazed in sweat. 

Bucky had been with men before, back in Brooklyn. Usually quick, anonymous affairs down by the docks or after playing a shift at the Silver Slipper. Transactional and efficient.

Being with Howard was nothing like that. Howard moved slow, like honey being poured over his body. With every grip and stroke he never took his eyes off of Bucky. At first, Bucky couldn’t meet his gaze, it was almost overwhelming, but slowly Bucky found himself drawn into his eyes and was lost within the ocean of passion they contained.

Howard pushed himself up on his elbows, coming back up to Bucky’s face and placed a light kiss on his lips. Then leaning to his ear he whispered, “What do you want Bucky?”

Bucky was thrown back to his dream from the factory, the trees, the picnic, lazy Sunday mornings, the perfect life together.

“Everything,” he breathed back.

A devilish smile spread across Howard’s face. “I was hoping you would say that.”

And without another word he flipped Bucky over, all traces of the honey-like slowness gone instead replaced with the carnal ferocity of a man too long starved of his desires, and Bucky was all too happy to oblige.

_Howard_

“Fondue is just cheese and bread my friend,” Howard couldn’t help but crack a grin at Steve's increasingly confused expression as they made their way into the lab.

“So, I’ve heard you’re pretty fond of the shield, can’t exactly say it’s the paramount of military technology these days but it’s your call.”

Howard still thought it a waste of Erskine's formula to outfit America’s only supersoldier with the equivalent of a dinner plate, but for once that was above his pay grade.

“I’ve taken the liberty of mocking up a few innovative samples, these options all give you a certain level of versatility,” he continued as he rounded the workbench.

Steve was still looking around at the lab with the look of a lost puppy dog. Howard snapped his fingers. “Rogers, focus here. What do you think?”

Steve looked down the workbench and made a noncommittal noise. Howard inwardly rolled his eyes. Steve’s time on the press junket really turned him into a diva Howard thought, although even as the thought crossed his mind he knew that was the pot calling the kettle black.

Howard sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face. Turning to his notebook he leafed through his sketches trying to think of how else he could reimagine the world's oldest, and in his opinion, most outdated combat weapon.

“What about this one?”

Howard turned to see Steve picking up the vibranium shield he had started to mock up last night but had abandoned after he saw a certain someone returning from the pub.

Howard grinned. Well at least if Steve insisted on using antique tech, it could be made from the most cutting edge material. A fair compromise Howard thought.

“Why isn’t it standard issue?” Steve asked, after Howard explained the metal’s properties.

 _“Because no one else in their right mind would choose a garbage can lid over a gun,”_ Howard thought to himself. 

“Because what you’re holding is all we have,” Howard answered, slightly more diplomatically.

Technically, that wasn’t completely true, but Howard already had plans for the remaining ore he had extracted.

Just at that moment, Peggy rounded the corner. Howard could immediately tell from her walk that there was a serious bee in her bonnet.

“Are you quite finished, Mr. Stark? I’m sure the Captain has some unfinished business.” The razor-like edge in her voice could cut glass. 

Howard was already backing away, in case the need to dive for cover came. The atmosphere felt as fragile as a bomb.

Steve, seemingly oblivious to the knife’s edge they were standing on, held up the shield to Peggy.

“What do you think?” he asked brightly.

Peggy fixed him with her most searing glare. Then quick as a whip, picked up a handgun from the table and fired four shots. Luckily Steve’s enhanced reflexes sprung into action as he ducked behind the shield.

“Yes, I think it works,” she replied curtly. Then setting the gun down turned on her heel and marched away.

Howard took a moment to take in Steve's stunned expression. Whatever had transpired between them leading up to this moment, you had to hand it to Peggy. The woman knew how to deliver a message.

###

“Do mad scientists get lunch breaks?”

Howard jumped, jerking his head towards the sources of the sound. Bucky leaned against the doorway of the lab, cocky grin on his face. Howard knew he got a kick out of startling him.

“Under normal circumstances, I would say no,” Howard put down the blow torch and slipped his goggles up onto his forehead. “But I may be inclined to make an exception, given present company.”

Bucky slipped in the lab, closing the door behind him. “Andrews or Peters around?” he asked casually.

Howard smirked. “Just stepped out for a smoke I believe.”

“Good,” Bucky responded as he wrapped his arms around Howard’s waist, placing a small kiss on his neck.

Howard twisted around to face him, pressing into a deep, abet short kiss, before breaking away and walking around the workbench.

It’s not that he didn’t want more. He did. God he did. But something about being with Bucky almost felt too good, and he was constantly waiting for other shoe to drop. Since their first night together earlier this week, Howard had hardly seen his own room, let along his own bed. 

Bucky was shipping out tomorrow with the Howling Commandos and wouldn’t be back until sometime after the New Year. And while they couldn’t exactly get back the time they’d spent pining over one another, they were certainly trying to make up for it. Howard would have to remember to thank Peggy for keeping the room next to Bucky’s vacant. Otherwise they would have been found out almost instantly.

“I have something I want to show you,” Howard said, as he lifted a case on to the workbench.

“Mmm I like the sound of that,” Bucky said with a cocky grin as he flung himself down on the stool.

“Honestly, Barnes, get your mind out of the gutter.”

“And why would I do a thing like that?” he asked mischievously.

Howard rolled his eyes. “I never thought I’d meet someone that could put my sex drive to shame.”

“I take that as a compliment, thank you,” Bucky said as he rocked forward on the stool. “Now what is it you wanted to show me.”

Howard popped open the case. “By now I am sure you’ve seen the glorified frisbee I’ve made for Steve?”

Bucky nodded. “Nice paint job by the way, was that your idea?”

Howard ignored him. “I told Steve that was the last of the vibranium in the SSR’s possession, but that wasn’t completely true. I had some leftover from the shield, as well from the test I was running.”

Howard lifted out a molded chestplate. “This should be able to take any type of conventional bullets without problem, and it has shown promising resistance to the weapons Hydra’s developed as well. Not to mention vibranium is relatively lightweight so it shouldn’t weigh you down too much.”

Bucky had been nodding along thoughtfully, but his head snapped up at the last part of Howard’s sentence. “Weigh _me_ down?”

Howard looked from him to the chestplate. “Uh yeah, I mean it is heavy but not more than what you are used to carrying at full weight, I mean I guess I could try to shave some more off…”

Bucky interrupted his train of thought. “You made that for me? It isn’t for Steve?”

Howard sputtered. “Why would it be for Steve?”

“Because he’s Captain America!”

Howard creased his brow. “So?”

“So…I mean, shouldn’t he be getting top pick of the tech?” Bucky asked slowly.

Howard scoffed. “Absolutely not, that privilege is reserved for whoever is currently sleeping with me.”

Bucky punched him on the shoulder, rolling his eyes.

“And besides…” Howard paused, all trace of joking gone. “After Italy, after the factory, I just want to keep you safe.”

Howard fiddled with the closures on the chestplate. He knew Bucky knew how he felt about him, and it was fairly obvious Bucky felt the same. Still, Howard often struggled to put his emotions into words, he was much better at showing people how he felt through actions. And using the last of the US Government’s supply of the most precious metal on Earth to make an unauthorized customized bulletproof chestplate was about as emotive as he has ever gotten.

Bucky placed his hand over Howard’s, stilling his nervous fiddling. Howard looked up to find Bucky’s eyes locked on to his, his gaze fierce.

“Thank you.”

They stayed like that for a beat. Staring into each other's eyes, the world around them slipping away. And then the door to the lab banged open, Andrews and Peters, the other lab techs, were back from their smoke break. Bucky dropped his hand.

Howard coughed and sucked in his breath, refocusing on the chestplate in front of him.

“Well, what are you waiting for then, try it on Barnes.”

“Now?” Bucky balked.

“Of course now, I need to finalize the fit and you’re shipping out tomorrow so it’s now or never,” Howard undid the closures as Bucky shucked off his shirt. “I did most of the measurements from memory but the more precise the fitting the better it will be,” Howard said as he began coxing the armor on to Bucky.

Bucky froze. Howard cast an annoyed look at his uncooperative subject. A small smile played at Bucky’s lips. “You made this from memory?”

Howard felt his cheeks heat. “Yes well, what can I say, you have a very memorable chest Barnes.”

Howard couldn’t quite meet Bucky’s eye as he finished fitting the chestplate into place. “Memory is pretty spot on,” Bucky said as he twisted around to finish snapping the closures in place. 

“So this thing will make me bulletproof, huh?”

“Pretty much,” Howard stepped back, making a few notes as he circled Bucky thoughtfully, tugging on the armor here and there. “Vibranium is a fascinating material, there is a lot you can do with it, and it is surprisingly dynamic. In this form it isn’t as rigid as the form used for Steve’s shield, so you should still have some degree of flexibility. I’ll expect a full field report when you get back so I can make updates accordingly.”

Bucky grinned. “I thought you said my field notes were unreadable chicken scratch.”

“They are. I guess yet again, you’ll have to stay and dictate them to me,” a conspiratorial smirk crossed Howard’s face. “Could take hours, not sure if you’ll have time for other administrative work.”

“Hm getting me out of admin duties to spend time with you,” Bucky dropped his voice to a whisper as to not be overheard by Andrews and Peters. “I like this new flirting technique Stark.”

Howard grinned and stepped back. “So, how does it feel?”

Bucky did some experimental twists and stretches. “It’s great, surprisingly flexible.” He stopped and looked directly at Howard. “This is incredible Howard, really.”

“Yes...well…” Howard busied himself with his notes, something he always did when he didn’t know what to say.

Bucky stepped closer and lightly grabbed his hand. “Thank you.”

Howard smiled. “Right well, consider this just a test drive, I expect you and it back after New Years, for research purposes.”

Bucky huffed a laugh. “Of course, of course, wouldn’t want to come between you and your research. And besides,” his voice growing serious. “If I recall correctly, I promised you I’d come back, and if I’m anything, I’m a man of my word.” 

Howard looked up from his notebook, meeting Bucky’s gaze. “You better believe I’m gonna hold you to that Barnes.”

Bucky smiled back at him then began to divest himself of the chestplate. Howard made a few notations for the slight adjustments that needed to be made. 

“Alright, so lunch?” Bucky asked as Howard finished up.

“We could do that,” Howard said slowly. “Or,” a smile spreading across his face, “I could help you pack. You know, in your room.”

Bucky scoffed. “I still have a day, I don’t need to start packing yet.”

Howard cleared his throat and gave Bucky a pointed look, raising his eyebrows.

Bucky gave him a confused look in return, then slowly realization dawned on his face. “Now that you mention it there are a few things you could help me with.”

Howard smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

_Bucky_

Bucky awoke before dawn in the small bed, slowly pulling Howard closer, he gently buried his nose in Howard’s now thoroughly mussed shock of black hair. Bucky breathed deep, greedy to drink in every last second of being with Howard before he rolled out in a few hours.

Howard shifted slightly, making a few sleepy noises before cuddling deeper into Bucky’s arms. Bucky couldn’t help but smile as he looked down at his sleeping form. Slowly he brought his hand up to stroke Howard’s cheek. Howard continued to sleep, the man really could sleep through a bombing, which given the current circumstances was mildly concerning.

Eventually, Howard’s eyes slowly fluttered open, smiling he looked up at Bucky. “Mornin’ soldier,” he said, voice still rough from sleep.

Everything about this man, his eyes, his voice, the way their bodies fit together so perfectly it should be a crime, made Bucky’s heart clench in his chest. He thought being with Howard physically would satiate the deep pit of want that had opened in his stomach since first laying eyes on him in Italy, but if anything it had transformed that want into something completely new. Something Bucky struggled to fully put into words, even in his own mind. And while his thoughts of the future had always been abstract at most, he knew now wherever his future led, it had to include Howard.

He just didn’t know how to broach the topic with Howard. While he was fairly certain his feelings were mutual, it didn’t change the fact that outside the Western Front they were from two different worlds. Sure, they may both call New York home, but Howard’s New York was vastly different than Bucky’s. 

Oblivious to Bucky’s internal war, Howard yawned and smacked his lips. “What time do you roll out again,” he asked.

“06:00,” Bucky breathed. Less than two hours from now.

Bucky was about to just say ‘fuck it’ and lay it all out for Howard, when Howard shifted in the bed, causing him to topple off the side.

“Ow, fuck,” he said pathetically from the floor. He hoisted himself back up and scrambled back into Bucky’s arms. “I am not going to miss these tiny shitty cots that’s for sure. Just wait until you see the bed in the penthouse, California king, I’m telling you Bucky the things we could get up to there…”

Bucky was thrown. “The...penthouse?” He said slowly.

Howard eyed him. “Well unless you would prefer the manor upstate, I just figured you want to stay in the city, but I’m open. I’ve also got a great mansion in California, but I usually just use that to escape the East Coast winters. The thought of you lounging by the pool though may make me reconsider making it our homebase,” Howard winked.

Bucky felt like he had been running down a flight of stairs and missed the last step. “Our home?”

Howard froze, and slowly looked up at him. Like a shot he was out of the bed, mouth running a mile a minute.

“I mean...I guess I just kind of assumed...or hoped rather...I mean I was thinking...obviously we would need to talk about it more...I just…” Howard was pacing back and forth, his voice slowly getting higher as he tended to do when he was nervous and didn’t have any papers to shuffle.

Bucky cut him off. “Hey,” he called, reaching out to grab his hand. “Yes.”

Howard stopped pacing. “Yes?” he parroted back.

“Yes, New York, California, the fucking moon, I don’t care where we are so long as we are together,” he paused pulling Howard back into bed. “I love you Howard.”

The smile that spread across Howard’s face was almost enough to fill the ache in his chest that had been there since the factory. “I love you too Bucky.”

###

Bucky cursed as he pulled his worn blue jacket tighter around him. It was no use, the icy wind cut straight through the fabric, almost like he was wearing nothing at all. 

He sighed, finishing the last few precious drags of his cigarette before crushing it beneath his boot and heading back into the abandoned house the Howling Commandos had set up camp in for the night.

“I thought we were supposed to be back in London by now,” he groused as he sunk down in a nearby chair and took out his rifle and began disassembling it so it could be cleaned.

“Yeah,” Dum Dum agreed. “I could do with a home cooked meal, we’ve been out here well over a month Cap, we’re in desperate need of a resupply.”

“I know fellas, I know, but we’re close.” Steve looked over a map with Jim. “We’ve got a real chance to get Dr. Zola, we just can’t pass that up. One more mission then we’ll head back to headquarters”

Nearby Gabe tinkered with the Hydra radio they had gotten their hands on in the last raid. “Based on the chatter I’m picking up Dr. Zola will be on a train cutting through the mountains sometime tomorrow.”

Steve nodded and looked back at the map. “Then that’s when we make our move.”

_Howard_

Howard hummed to himself as he got ready, stepping up to the pitcher he lathered his face with shaving cream and leaned closer to the mirror, carefully running the blade over his cheek.

He was in a good mood. He’d made significant progress on the tests he had been running with Andrews on the Hydra weapons. The sheer power these weapons possessed was terrifying, but Howard was fascinated by the possibilities and desperate to learn all he could about the power source. He’d seen a lot of things in his time with the SSR, but this truly took the cake.

Once he was finished shaving he meticulously wiped the excess shaving cream from his face. His eyes drifted to the photo tucked in the top right-hand side of his mirror. A familiar smirk met his eyes. When the press shots of the Howling Commandos came back, ready to be mocked up into patriotic trading cards to be used to boost morale and bond sales back home, Peggy had discreetly passed him a copy of one of the few photos the photographer had captured of Bucky.

Howard loved the photo. It perfectly captured Bucky’s mischievous attitude while highlighting his boyish charm. He knew Bucky would rib him about it when he got back. Keeping his photo in his mirror like a love-sick school girl.

Howard smiled softly to himself, thinking back to the letter he had received about a week ago from Bucky. The Howling Commandos were deep behind enemy lines, so communication was sparse. In the time he had been gone only one of Bucky’s letters had made it back to the SSR base. He indicated they’d be returning soon and Howard was glad. They were already long overdue for their resupply, and pushing a month and a half in winter on the front came with a heavy toll.

Howard pulled his suspenders around his shoulders and made for the door. He wanted to rerun some of the calculations for a new remote detonator he was working on for Dernier.

He entered the lab, already deep in thought, muttering calculations under his breath. He quickly made his way to his workbench, he wanted to get his thoughts down before his brain caught up to the fact he hadn’t had his coffee yet.

He didn’t hear Peggy softly calling his name until she reached out and touched his shoulder. Startled he turned to snap at her, but the words died on his tongue as soon as he saw her face.

Never in his life had he seen Peggy Carter’s lips tremble, let alone shed a single tear. The woman was the picture of British restraint, someone who had learned early to hide her emotions under a cool mask of military professionalism. But when Howard met her eyes, he saw they were damp with tears.

“Howard,” she began softly.

“What is it Peg?” he asked frantically, thousands of worse-case scenarios running through his head.

Peggy sucked in her breath, steeling herself for the next few words. “Howard, I’m so sorry. The telegram just came through. On the last mission there was an accident,” her voice broke but he forged ahead, determined to get the words out. “Bucky...Bucky didn’t make it.”

She continued speaking but Howard didn’t hear what she said. The room was spinning. He steadied himself against the workbench to keep from falling to his knees. 

“No,” he thought. “No, that can’t be right.” His mind was quickly spiraling out of control. It couldn’t be, there had to be some mistake.

He stumbled forward, clinging to Peggy as she reached out to steady him. 

“How?” he asked hoarsely.

“We don’t have a lot of details right now, the Commandos are on their way back to base now for a full debriefing.” Peggy answered softly.

“How?” Howard asked, more forcefully. He could tell Peggy was dancing around the truth, attempting to spare him, but he needed to know.

Peggy sighed, she knew Howard wouldn’t let it go until she told him all she knew.

“It seems they raided a train with the goal of apprehending Dr. Zola. There was a skirmish. Bucky was thrown from the train into the ravine below. It was an estimated 500-foot drop to the frozen river below.” Peggy relayed the information gently, but with the clipped efficiency of a wartime officer.

Howard said nothing, just stared intently at the wall in front of him. The information washed over him. He tried to make sense of the words Peggy was saying, but nothing was sinking in over the slow chant of “no, no, no, no,” running through his mind like a drumbeat.

“Howard...Howard?” He refocused his gaze on Peggy’s concerned face. “Howard, do you want me to take you back to your room? Maybe you should take the rest of the day off. I’m sure Peters and Andrews can cover for you.”

Howard stood there dumbly for a moment. “No,” he said weakly. “No, I should...I should stay here.” He looked down at his notes, dazed.

“Howard, I really think…” Peggy pleaded with him.

“I said no Peggy!” Howard said gruffly. He shrugged out of her grasp. “I have work to do, just leave me.”

“Howard…” She started again.

“Just leave me alone!” He shouted. The dam broke and his emotions poured out. “Get out, OUT,” he roared. Andrews and Peters looked up from across the lab. “That means you too, all of you GET OUT OF MY LAB.”

Peggy gave him one more heartbroken look. She gently touched his hand, Howard flinched away. “When you’re ready, I’ll be here,” she said quietly. Then she turned to go, nodding for Andrews and Peters to follow her.

Once the door to the lab was shut Howard turned back to the workbench. He took a deep breath and tried to get a hold on the tempest of emotions that raged through his mind. Instead, with the scream of a wounded animal, he swept his hands across the desk, sending his notes, book, scapes of materials and tools crashing to the ground. He let out a strangled scream and turned to the table behind him violently sweeping off the contents, they fell to the ground with another satisfying crash. 

He looked around at the destruction and slowly sunk to the ground as sobs racked his body. He felt like he couldn't breathe, like the world as he knew it was closing in on him and slowly suffocating him.

Through his tears, all he could think was, “you promised, you promised you would come back to me Bucky Barnes, you promised.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, but you knew it was coming.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short but important chapter.

**Winter-Spring 1944**

_Bucky_

Bucky blinks awake, face down in the snow. He squints trying to make out his surroundings, but the sun reflecting off the snow around him renderings him effectively blind. He feels cold, _so cold._ He slowly moves his head to glance down, only to let out a strangled scream. Instead of his left arm, he just sees a river of red-stained snow.

He struggles to roll over on to his back, but his balance is off, with nothing to support him on his left side he struggles fruitlessly.

Then he stills, hearing something in the distance. He strains his ears for the source of the noise. Boots crunching in the snow, slowly growing closer. He breathes a sigh of relief. Steve, Steve found him.

“Steve!” he calls out horsley. “Steve hurry, I need a tourniquet!”

The footsteps stop. Bucky tries to twist around to see his friend, but he’s too lightheaded and the angle is wrong. 

Instead of Steve’s concerned voice, he hears quiet muttering in a foreign language.

Bucky’s euphoria of being found hardly has time to turn to dread before the butt of a rifle connects with his temple and he’s plunged back into darkness.

_Howard_

Howard knows he looks crazed as he enters the briefing room. A man possessed with a manic look in his eye. The description isn’t far off. He's hardly slept since Peggy delivered the news. Opting instead for caffeine, chain-smoking, and occasionally snorting bennies he swiped from the medic supply.

He knows he can’t sleep, won’t sleep until he unlocks the secret of Hydra’s recovered weaponry. His study of the Hydra weapons has plunged into full-on obsession. The technology is light years away from what the US is capable of producing, even if Howard could reverse engineer the blueprints, he lacks the raw materials to bring them to life. It infuriates Howard, to be held back by the technology of his age, it feels like a cage.

He says as much at the briefing. However, Steve seems undaunted by the uneven technological match-up. He and the Howling Commandos are planning a daring assault on Hydra’s last stronghold in hopes of stopping Schmidt. Howard can tell the burning desire to avenge Bucky is driving Steve’s every thought.

Howard wishes he could share in Steve’s rage. Rage can be just as passionate a feeling as love. Instead, Howard just feels numb, empty. Even if the Howling Commandos succeed with his half-cocked plan and kill Schmidt, destroy Hydra, hell they could even bring down Hitler himself; it won’t change the past. It won’t bring Bucky back. 

That’s why it’s easier to just focus on the tech. It’s straight forward, mathematical. Howard knows if he concentrates hard enough he can solve the puzzle in front of him, because undeniably there is an answer. The black and white binary is the only shred of reason he seems to be able to hold on to these days. It is his refuge.

But sometimes his mind will unwittingly puncture that refuge, he’ll get so absorbed in a set of complex calculations, or making delicate calibrations, he’ll forget about what happened. He’ll find himself glancing up with a smirk on his face ready to tease Bucky for staring. So ready to fall back into the familiar cadence of their witty sparing. 

But when his eyes fall on the lonely stool it all comes crashing over him again. Bucky’s gone. _Forever_. And Howard has to grip the sides of his workbench to stop Earth from opening up below his feet and swallowing him whole.

Howard hears the scraping of chairs being pushed back and his attention snaps back to the present. Others are rising from the table, the briefing evidently concluded. Howard follows suit. All he wants to do is get the fuck away from all these people and back to the peace of his lab. 

Bucky’s death was a devastating blow to all of the Howling Commandos, as well as the SSR. But, this was war, it was simple arithmetic that people died. You had to pick up the pieces and keep marching ahead. People knew Howard and Bucky were friendly of course, but Howard could hardly let the extent of his grief truly show without raising uncomfortable questions. As far as the US Government was concerned, Bucky died a hero. The last thing Howard wanted was for that honor to be rescinded, which it undoubtedly would be if word got out Bucky was a queer.

Howard heaved a sigh as he gathered up his notes. He absently rubbed his eyes. His biology might finally be rebelling against him for the lack of sleep. He desperately wanted to go curl up in Bucky’s bed one last time. Last night he had attempted just that, but he had been dismayed to find Bucky room already packed, sheets stripped and all belongings in a tidy box ready to be shipped to his next of kin. Damn British efficiency.

As he turned to go he felt a hand clasp his shoulder. “Howard, do you have a minute?” Howard turned to meet Steve’s serious gaze, his eyes laced with concern.

Howard sighed and nodded. They stood there awkwardly for a moment as people finished filing out of the briefing room. Peggy was the last to leave. She gave Howard a small, guarded smile and gently shut the door on her way out.

“Howard, I…” Steve starts but quickly seems to lose his way, breaking off the sentence.

Howard politely meets his gaze as the silence stretches between them. Steve works his jaw, willing the right words to come. When nothing does, Howard sighs again and starts to turn towards the door.

“Good luck on your suicide mission, Cap. I hope for Peg’s sake you come back,” he mimes a lazy salute as he grabs the handle.

“Wait,” Steve lets out a frustrated sigh. “I just...ever since we were kids it was always just me and Buck.” Steve scuffs his foot on the floor, looking more like the scrawny kid that entered the Rebirth Pod than the super soldier he’s proven himself to be. “We always looked out for each other. Didn’t have any other friends, didn’t need to.”

Howard turns back towards Steve, but he is staring resolutely at the ground, head hung low.

“The last few months, the way Buck talked about you…” Steve waved his hand abstractly through the air. “I’ve never...I’ve never heard him so taken with someone. You two seemed to really share a special...bond. And I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t save him, for you.” When Steve finally meets Howard’s gaze there are tears in his eyes.

A thousand thoughts gallop through Howard’s mind, fear that Steve knows their secret, the desire to share in Steve’s sorrow, a yearning to reach out to the only other person on this planet that knows Bucky better than Howard, but in the end, it’s anger that wins out.

Howard feels his fists clench at his side. He strains to control his voice, keeping his words at just above a whisper. 

“Tell me, Captain Rogers, did you even attempt a rescue?”

Steve’s face crumples. “We had Zola, we had to move fast. And the drop, it was too far…”

Howard cuts him off. “Yes, I’ve read the report,” he hisses. “You’re telling me the Army’s most elite combat unit couldn’t spare two men from their team for a rescue mission for one of their own? A feeble Nazi doctor needed a six-person escort?” 

“Howard it isn’t like that, the train was moving too fast, we didn’t have anywhere to make a safe exit from, let alone the gear to scale the cliffs down the ravine. Once the terrain evened out we were too far from the scene. Not to mention that’s still enemy-controlled territory.”

Howard stares silently at the floor. Hot angry tears pricking behind his eyes. Slowly he nods, he feels the anger drain from his body just as quickly as it came, replaced with the feeling of emptiness that had become all too familiar. He takes one last look at Steve. 

“You know he would have gone back for you,” he says quietly.

And with that Howard turns to leave. He hears Steve calling after him but he doesn’t look back. 

###

Howard just finished stuffing the last of his shirts into his trunk when the door flies open.

“Care to explain this Howard?” Peggy holds up the reassignment memo, undoubtedly that had come across her desk requiring her signature.

“I think it is all rather well laid out in the memo you’re holding there Peg, you’re the one that’s always nagging me to file things correctly.”

Howard moves to this desk and starts stuffing papers haphazardly into folders then into his already crammed briefcase.

Peggy lets out a small huff of frustration. “And you chose now of all times to start listening? The Howling Commandos are shipping out for their attack on the Hydra base now, what do you mean you’re leaving?”

“Well if things go as well as the good Captain predicts, this whole Hydra business should be sewn up by dawn tomorrow. As you said the Commandos are shipping out, at that point my skills will be of little use to them. I’ve equipped them all with my best babies, the rest in their hands.”

“But Howard…”

Howard snaps the briefcase shut and turns to face Peggy.

“You said it yourself Agent Carter, this is the front, every minute is on the clock and the SSR in Budapest is in dire need of my skills. It’s my civic duty to go where I’m most needed, thus the request for reassignment.”

Peggy regards him silently. Howard wants to flinch from the scrutiny but he wills himself to hold her gaze.

“Howard,” she starts again gently. “Please don’t run from this. We’re a team. Whatever the outcome of this mission with Schmidt is, there will still be work for you here in the London office. Please, Howard. Stay.”

Howard finally drops his gaze and turns to gather up his jacket and briefcase. Eyes sweeping over the room one last time before he turns to face Peggy again.

“No can do Peg. Transport has already been arranged. I leave from the airstrip as soon as the Commandos are clear.”

Howard makes to move past Peggy, but she grabs his hand stopping him in his tracks.

“Howard,” she whispers. “Please.” Her mask of professionalism falling as she pleads with Howard. “Please talk to me, just let me in, I’ve watched you this last week withdraw further and further into yourself. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

If it had been anyone else, Howard would have brushed off the concern with a sly comment and been on his way. Maybe it’s the fierce sincerity in Peggy’s eyes, or the myriad of chemicals keeping him in an artificial state of wakefulness, or the toll of his parting words to Steve. Whatever the reason, he finally decides to succumb to the weight of his grief, slowly sinking down on the cot. The heartache of the last week engulfing his entire body, he pitches forward, clutching his head in his hands.

“Peggy…” he starts, but his words are quickly lost as a sob wrack his body. In an instant Peggy is kneeling beside him, rubbing circles on his back, letting him indulge the tears he spent so many days trying not to shed. Howard loses track of how long they stay like that.

Once his sobs subside, he takes a deep breath. “I just can’t stay here Peg. Everywhere I turn I see him, and every time I have to remind myself that he’s never coming back. It's like I’m living the worst day of my life on an endless loop,” slowly breathing out he shakes his head. “I’m sorry, but I just have to leave.”

Peggy says nothing for a long moment, the pregnant pause broken when she draws Howard into a tight hug. “Take care of yourself, Howard,” she whispers softly.

Howard holds Peggy tight. “You too Peg, you too.”

###

Six hours later Howard is touching down in Budapest. He’s scarcely unpacked when the general’s aid, a Mr. Edwin Jarvis, is rushing in with an urgent telegram from the SSR London office. They stopped Schmidt but lost Steve to the sea. And for the second time, Howard feels his world fracture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was really difficult to write. I contemplated several times just cutting and moving to Tony's POV which I am really excited to focus more on. But, ultimately I really wanted to explore the impact of Howard's grief as it is something that shapes the rest of his life (at least in this fic). Thanks again for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Fall 2016**

_Tony_

The landscape whizzed by as Tony flew down the highway but he hardly noticed. He was still turning everything over in his mind. Trying to put together a clear picture of the man his father was, felt like trying to put together a puzzle, only to realize there were pieces from three different landscapes mixed together in one box.

He glanced down at the photo of the Winter Soldier that he had propped up on the dash. There was something about the picture that kept nagging his mind, beyond the fact that it suggested that the Winter Soldier was an actual human with feelings, and not some Hydra bionic killing machine. 

And then it hit him. He almost had to pull over the thought was so jarring. The kid. That smart-ass look on the Winter Soldier’s face, it almost reminded him of Peter. That’s what was bothering him, the fact that he looked so... _young_. Tony’s mind raced, his father was born in...1917. That made him 26 in 1943. The Winter Soldier was likely around the same age, give or take a year or two. 

“Jesus,” Tony blew out a breath. In the photo the Winter Soldier was closer to Peter’s age than to Tony.

Tony had grown up hearing his father talk about Captain America, the Howling Commandos, and the SSR for so long. The people in his stories took on almost folk hero status in Tony’s young mind. Untouchable titans, the model of maturity, strength, and control. They could do no wrong.

But now, Tony was realizing all of them, his father, Steve, even the indomitable Agent Carter he’d heard so much about, they were just...people; more than that, during the war they were little more than young adults. 

Tony thought back briefly to what he was doing at 26, boozing with beautiful women on Stark Industry’s dime likely. While he obsessed over his father’s war stories as a kid and well into his teens, he hadn’t given them more than a passing thought in many years. It was strange the different light they took on from the perspective of a 43-year-old.

###

The storage facility was cool and dark. Tony was greeted with aisle after aisle filled with neatly stacked air-tight, climate-controlled containers. The warehouse was almost like a shopping center, each aisle marked by the date range the containers covered. Pepper really had outdone herself overseeing the organization of this place in her time as Tony’s PA.

Tony scanned the aisle markers, making his way deeper and deeper into the facility. Unsurprisingly the aisle containing documents from 1943 was near the back, at that point Stark Industries had only been four years old.

Tony surveyed the aisle. He sighed. “Have to start somewhere I guess,” he thought to himself as he lugged the first container off the shelf.

He popped the clasps, air hissed out as the container opened. He pulled out a faded flier for the 1943 Stark Expo. “Come see the World of Tomorrow!” the flier exclaimed. More promotional material and documents for the Expo were piled underneath. Tony scoffed shutting the box, he moved to the next one.

This one seemed more promising, filled with what looked like journals and notebooks, as well as poster tubes likely containing blueprints. The box seemed rather haphazardly packed. Tony shifted the contents around, pulling out the notebooks. 

While his Father’s lab may have been notoriously messy, he was scrupulous about his notes, which luckily seemed to apply to these notebooks as well. In the front cover of each was a date range. Tony started stacking them in chronological order. At the bottom of the container were two smaller notebooks with “Field Notes” stamped across the front. Tony flipped them open, the handwriting wasn’t his father’s neat cursive but instead messy crowded scrawl, Tony frowned and set them aside.

“Alright Pops lets see what deep dark secrets these diaries contain,” Tony plopped down on the hard concrete floor and pulled the first journal off the stack and started flipping through but quickly set it aside, too early in the year. The same went for the next three. 

The next one gave him pause, he was getting closer to the summer months. But what stopped him was a longer narrative form entry, it seemed out of place between the pages filled with equations, sketches, and shorter bulleted notes. Tony started reading.

_May 25, 1943_

_I’m running into trouble with the construction of the Rebirth Pod. There is just so much theoretical to work through, and the fact that our abilities for test runs before utilization on a human subject are zilch makes the stakes even higher. Erksine has alluded to the potentially horrific side-effects should the serum not take to the body correctly. His lack of elaboration has led me to only believe the worst._

_However, the potential payoff could be huge. One unit of enhanced super soldiers could do more for this war than the thousands of men that have given their lives so far. I have to admit I find Erskine’s hope somewhat infectious, but hope isn’t going to do shit for the poor sap we stick in this pod if I can’t get the calculations right…_

_I’m running out of places to turn to, I’m just not sure the science is there yet. I need inspiration to strike, and quick...it’s only a matter of time before they select the first subject and I promised the pod would be ready well before then. Dammit to hell..._

Tony leaned back, for a moment he felt guilty. Like he was prying into something that was clearly meant to be private. It was also strange. His father always seemed so sure of himself, he radiated a natural confidence that Tony had spent years attempting to mimic. 

Tony had read his father’s notes before. He’d poured over every inch of notes Fury had dropped off regarding the Arc Reactor technology. But those notes were different, they reflected an older, more accomplished Howard Stark. A man who was secure in his business and his place in the world. Someone who had proven his genius several times over.

But these notes, they reflected a different Howard. Young and unsure, desperate to prove himself and solidify Stark Industries as a real player. To see evidence that his father wavered, that he questioned himself, and had doubts...it was yet again another remaking of the image of the man he thought he knew.

Tony kept flipping, but more slowly this time. He watched as his father’s thought process for construction of the Rebirth Pod unfolded across the pages, the different paths he pursued until finally landing on the correct design and calibrations. 

It was like watching a historical drama, you already knew the outcome but you still got swept up in the journey. He knew his father eventually unlocked the secret to the Rebirth Pod, otherwise there would be no Captain America, but reading through his old notes, his father seemed anything but sure of that outcome at the time.

Tony couldn’t help the faint smile that found its way to his lips when he got the final entry, the last lines of the equations circled and underlined several times. “Nice going Dad, see you got there,” he mumbled to himself.

Tony picked up the next notebook, based on the opening notations it looked like this was the beginning of the notes from the Italian front. From the looks of the notes, it seemed his father had been working on magnifying night scopes for sniper rifles. Tony blinked at the equations, they were shockingly cutting edge, especially for 1943. The use of light refraction was nothing short of revolutionary. 

Temporarily forgetting his original purpose, Tony started working through the equations and notes. His father’s approach was...unconventional to say the least but Tony found he was largely able to follow.

He got to a portion of larger blocks of narrative, they seemed to be field notes from physical testing. Just then Tony remembered the smaller notebooks marked field notes. He flipped them open and compared the texts. They were almost identical, except for his father’s notes were somewhat more neatly written.

Tony sat back. Strange. Why would his father re-copy perfectly legible field notes into his own journal? Were these notebooks technically supposed to go back to the SSR and his father wanted to make sure he had the notes for his own records? 

Tony sighed. “God not having a copier must have been such a bitch.”

But that thought still didn’t seem completely right to him. He flipped through the field notes again. This handwriting, where had he seen it before?

“FRIDAY, project the scanned copies of the contents of Dad’s mystery box, please.”

FRIDAY’s remote holographic projector blinked to life in the dark aisle. The documents from earlier amassed on the screen, as well as the files Tony had FRIDAY pull from the web and Pentagon. Tony’s eyes swept over everything. There, the letter. The pulled down the holographic copy. The handwriting matched the field notes.

He then looked back again at the Winter Soldier’s service record. Rereading the notation “temp reassignment to SSR, prototype test subject.”

Right, so the Winter Soldier was testing his father’s sniper scopes. Guess he was a sniper before Hydra got a hold of him. Tony flipped through the slim service file, and from his training records, it seemed like he was a pretty damn good one. It made sense he was testing the sniper scopes.

Tony added it to the flimsy timeline he currently had going. So, his father showed up to the Italian encampment in late summer, the Winter Soldier’s unit was already there. The Winter Soldier had been reassigned to the SSR temporarily to test the scopes his father was working on. That means they were likely in close contact, working together for at least a few weeks, exchanging field notes during the testing process.

Tony started thumbing through his father’s notebook again. More notes incorporating the information from the field testing, nothing atypical, just regular experimental notes. In addition to the scopes, it looks like his father was also working on some kind of miniature tracking device.

Tony kept flicking through, then something in the margins caught his eye. In small neat print off to the side of one page, his father had written _Grand piano → penthouse_. There was a thick box around the words as if it had been traced over several times.

Tony knitted his brows. This seemed...strangely out of place. Did he mean the grand piano in their penthouse? Tony thought for a moment, then suddenly a memory slotted into place. A conversation he had had with his mother that had always stuck in his mind for no particular reason except as yet another example of his Father’s callousness.

When he was about to graduate from MIT and his parents were away, his Father was presenting at a conference in Lisbon if he recalled correctly, Tony threw a rager for his friends at their New York penthouse. During the course of the party, someone did a keg stand and fell over on to their grand piano, breaking it. 

At the time Tony wasn’t too concerned, he had broken plenty of things over the course of his parties since high school. It always just got replaced, he was pretty sure Jarvis had it as a line item in the family budget. 

His parents came back from the conference early, finding Tony passed out on the couch and the remnants of the party all too clear from the state of the penthouse. Their disappointment was nothing new, but he had never seen his Father so angry as when he saw the broken piano. He pulled Tony’s European graduation trip as punishment.

Following the verbal dressing down from his father, Tony remembers sitting on the piano bench, staring angrily at the smashed piano. His mother silently joined him on the bench to comfort him, as she always did.

“I don’t even understand why he’s so upset. It’s just a piano, my allowance from last week will cover a new one -- and he doesn’t even play! You’re the one that plays mom, and you’re not mad!”

It all seemed so unjust to Tony. Why did is father even care about this stupid piano? He hardly ever used this penthouse anyway, usually just when he had business in the city.

His mom looked at him with a sad smile as she stroked his back. “Oh Tony, you have to understand this piano, it wasn’t for me.” With that, she had kissed his head and got up to find wherever his father had stalked off to.

Tony sat back as the weight of the memory sunk in. _The piano wasn’t for me_. That’s what his mom had said. Tony hadn’t really thought anything of it at the time, too preoccupied with sulking over his canceled euro trip. But if the piano wasn’t for his mom...Tony glanced back down at the note in the margins of his father’s notebook.

Tony felt like it was significant, but he just couldn’t place how quite yet. He finished flipping through the notebook, but no other notes caught his eye. He set the journal aside, leaving it open to the page with the grand piano note.

He pulled the next notebook out of the stack. The dates indicated that it was moving into the fall of ‘43. Again the notes seemed pretty typical, until about halfway through his father’s neat tight cursive script started getting sloppier and sloppier. Tony checked the dates, it seemed to be over the course of three days. Tony squinted at the writing trying to follow the equations. He normally found his father’s work easy to follow, even if his thought process was somewhat random. But as Tony peered at these pages, he could hardly make heads or tails of the frantic writing. 

It seemed related to increasing the range of the receiver of a remote transmitter. But the writing was so convoluted, the equations running into one another, things scratched out then written over, Tony couldn’t be entirely sure. It struck Tony that it also seemed unfinished, instead the next few pages were blank, then his Father’s neat cursive writing resumed with a notation he’d been resigned to the SSR home office in London.

Tony glanced at the dates in the notebook and compared it again against the Winter Soldier’s service record. After the notation about the SSR temp assignment there was another notation. “Hydra POW, Azzano, Hydra munitions factory, liberated by Capt. America 3 Nov. 1943.”

Tony looked back at the notebook, the date range aligned with his father’s frantic notes. It didn’t take a genius to connect the two phenomena. Those days that Steve was gone on the rescue mission, his father was...scared they weren’t coming back. Increasing the range of a transmitter...he was likely trying to reach Steve.

The thought made Tony think back to the early years of the Avengers. The panic he would feel whenever members of the team went out on solo or duo missions. How Tony would stay up all night monitoring their tracking and distress signals, ready to provide back up the second it was required. While he never admitted it to anyone, and he knew every member of the team was more than capable of handling themselves in whatever situation they found themselves in, Tony worried about them constantly. 

He tried to imagine what it would be like sending them out on a mission with no GPS, no means of communications, no set deadline for check-in. Just having to sit and silently wait for them to return, it would be excruciating.

He gently touched his father’s notes again. To an outsider, they looked like the ravings of a madman, but Tony, he understood. He understood the weight his father must have felt, waiting at the encampment for any sign of his team’s return.

###

Tony continued to pour over the notebooks. Occasionally getting lost in the problems and designs his father was outlining. While he was loath to admit it, they were pretty interesting. Especially all the designs for the Howling Commandos. Tony always assumed his father’s stories were exaggerated about the innovative tech he came up with on the front, but he might have to give his dad this one.

He paused in the section that outlined a number of different prototypes for Steve’s signature shield. There was one with a flamethrower attached, one with detachable spikes, another that held an electric current. “And Steve chose a glorified dinner plate, typical,” Tony muttered as he thumbed through the pages.

He stopped when he got to a page simply titled “For Bucky.” Tony skimmed through the writing. It seemed like his Father was constructing some kind of body armor. Tony looked closer, constructed out of vibranium?

Tony frowned. By all accounts, the last of the US’s supply of vibranium had gone into constructing Steve’s shield. But based on these notes, his father had squirreled some away. And he used to make body armor for the Winter Soldier? It seemed like a strange choice.

Tony flipped through the design pages again. They were incredibly detailed. Much more detailed and thought through than any of the other Howling Commando design schematics, including Steve’s shield. This body armor really seemed like a labor of love for his father.

But why make body armor for just the Winter Soldier? Tony double checked the service record, he was the team sniper, that means he was the least likely to come into hand to hand combat. If anyone needed body armor wasn’t it Steve? He was the super soldier after all. 

Puzzled Tony set it aside along with the notebook that mentioned the grand piano. He felt like he was starting to outline some type of relationship between his father and the Winter Soldier, but the edges were still murky. Clearly they served together and seemed to have worked rather closely for a time. Tony’s gut told him there was something more, but he couldn’t put his finger on it just yet.

The next two notebooks didn’t yield anything out of the ordinary or make any other references to the Winter Soldier. In fact, it seemed his father had undertaken some kind of chemical project titled “midnight oil.”

The next journal seemed to carry on much in the same way until one day the pages just abruptly stopped. “Huh,” Tony murmured as he flipped to the end. He inspected the notebook closer and realized that several pages had been ripped out.

He gently ran his fingers over the first blank page, then held it up to the light. He could see that there were impressions on the page.

“FRIDAY, analyze these pages, reconstruct the writing based on the impressions, separate the layers and get as many pages as possible from the pressure transfer.”

FRIDAY’s scanner ran over the blank page several times. “Rending reconstruction now Boss,” came the AI’s response.

Once FRIDAY was finished, the recovered text flashed to life via hologram. Tony’s jaw fell open as he attempted to take in the reconstruction. His father’s notes were often difficult to follow, making strange leaps in logic and seemingly unrelated connections, but Tony was usually able to wade through them.

What stared back at him, it was...well frankly it looked unhinged, borderline deranged. Tony brought his hand to his mouth as he tried to even find a coherent thread to follow.

“Jesus this puts the Unabomber to shame,” he muttered.

FRIDAY did an exceptional job with the reconstruction, there were at least eight pages of recovered notes. Tony slowly started to work through them, trying to make sense of the madness. It seemed these were some of his father’s earliest notes on Hydra’s weapons, which everyone now knows were powered by the tesseract.

But even while the tesseract technology was seemingly unfathomable at the time, that didn’t explain the feral nature of his father’s notes. He worked on the Manhattan Project for god sake, the scientific unknown wasn’t exactly out of his wheelhouse. Even calling this portion of writing ‘notes’ was generous, they were more like delusional ravings.

Tony looked for a date stamp, they seemed largely to span a single week in February. He looked back at his father’s service record. According to the file these entries were written in the week preceding his father’s request for transfer to Budapest.

He flipped over to the Winter Soldier’s files, maybe there was something that aligned there. Tony scanned down the file. There was only one notation that aligned with the date range. “KIA, Howling Commandos Mission ID G496, Austria.”

Tony sat back and let the information sink in. The Winter Soldier dies, or so everyone at the SSR thought, and his father proceeds to lose his marbles trying to unlock the secret to Hydra’s weapons before abruptly transferring to Budapest.

A thought starts forming in Tony’s mind, but he shoves it down before it can fully materialize. And yet...the piano, the specialized armor, the response to the news of his death.

Suddenly the air in the storage room feels thick and heavy, the walls slowly start to close in. Tony quickly gathers up the notebooks he’s set aside and starts towards the door. He needs to get out of there. Now.

###

Tony cranks Black Sabbath up all the way, hoping the music will block out his racing thoughts as he whips the car along the back roads all the way back to his parent’s manor. It almost works, until he is pulling past the gates far too early for his liking.

The car idles in the driveway. Tony stares at the steering wheel blankly. While he keeps trying to push the idea away, once his mind willed it into existence he is powerless to keep it from taking hold. His father and the Winter Soldier...Tony gingerly turns the idea over in his mind…

“No, no, no, no, nope. I am...this is...I am not actually entertaining this...it’s…” Tony’s mind stuttered to fill in the rest of the sentence. It’s...what? Ridiculous? Unfathomable? Impossible? 

Tony starts as the shrill ring of his Stark phone cuts through his mental malaise. He blinks a few times at the screen. The readout flashes with “Call From...Sharon Carter.” At the last second, Tony hits accept.

“Sharon, to what do I owe the honor?” 

“Tony,” Sharon’s voice portrayed the slightest tinge of surprise, she was likely expecting Tony to send her straight to voicemail. She recovers quickly. “You’re well I hope?”

Tony bites back the sarcastic comment that dances on his lips. “Couldn’t be better,” he answers with fake brightness.

“Look, I’ll cut to the chase,” she said simply. In his limited dealings with Sharon following the UN bombing, he appreciated her directness. Her proclivities for covertly smuggling compounded gear to rouge Avengers was another matter.

“As you know my Aunt Peggy Carter passed earlier this year.” Condolences caught on Tony’s tongue, but Sharon didn’t pause to hear them, instead charging ahead with her point. 

“With everything that’s been happening, I’ve just gotten around to executing her will.” Tony stopped fidgeting with the steering wheel and sat up, waiting for Sharon to continue.

“There’s a bequeath for you. A box. It’s at her old row home in DC. I’m sending a cleaning crew there next week, I’m still tied up in Germany. While they are there I can have them send the box to you, I just wanted to see what address was best.”

Tony’s mind was reeling. Another mystery box? Was Tony unwittingly taking part in some kind of OG SSR scavenger hunt?

“Tony,” Sharon prompted.

“Uh, right. A box? Any idea what it’s inside?”

Sharon sniffed. “The will suggests they contain some of the old correspondences between my aunt and your father during the war and through the founding of SHIELD.”

Tony wanted to laugh, really he’s getting this now? The timing was almost suspiciously perfect.

“It’s in her row home in DC, you said?”

“Yes.”

“I’m actually scheduled to be in DC tomorrow, would it be alright if I just stopped by myself and picked it up?”

Sharon paused, clearly not expecting Tony to volunteer to retrieve it himself. “Uh, sure,” she said slowly. “Of course, of course, actually that would be great if you don’t mind. I’ll have you added to the biometric keypad on the door, your fingerprint should grant you access. The box should be in her study. The will describes it as a small oak chest with mother of pearl inlays.”

“Great, thanks Sharon.”

“Give me a call if you have any trouble getting in or finding the box,” and with that, she was gone.

Tony put away his phone and looked up at the family manor as it loomed over him. Thinking how exactly he was going to explain his last-minute trip to DC to Pepper. She had been the one nagging him to get out more, stop rattling around the empty Avenger complex, so maybe it wouldn’t be that hard.

He moved to put the car reverse, he needed to get back to the complex, suit up and head down to DC. But something stopped him. He glanced back at the manor. Then shifting the car into park he got out and hurried up the stone steps.

Correspondences were only one way, right? So all the letters Peggy had from his father, they were just one side of the conversation. If he wanted to get the full picture, he needed all the data points. 

He hurried inside and made his way back into his father’s study. He felt less like an outsider than when he had entered earlier this morning. Strange how a few hours of reading his father’s notes had brought him closer to the man than in all their time on Earth together. 

Tony cast his eyes quickly around the room. He knew that most of his father’s personal correspondences were stored here, which made it the most likely place for his letters from Peggy. He didn’t hide them in his Winter Soldier mystery box, so...where could they be?

After scanning two of the tall bookshelves his eyes fell on a square oak box. Tony stepped forward to get a closer look. An intricate design decorated the top in mother of pearl inlays. Tony didn’t even have to open it to know. 

He tucked the box under his arm and made his way back out to the car.


	8. Chapter 8

_Fall 2016 - Tony_

It was well after midnight when Tony landed, the wise thing to do would have been to wait until tomorrow to come to DC, but his mind was buzzing with all the information he had taken in in the last twenty hours, he needed to see this through.

Peggy’s rowhouse was in the Capitol Hill neighborhood, situated just behind the Library of Congress near the historic St. Mark’s Episcopal Church. After his fingerprint was accepted by the biometric scanner the door swung open.

An eerie feeling washed over Tony as he stepped inside. White sheets were thrown over the furniture, most of the pictures had been removed, leaving ghostly outlines of where they once hung. Tony stepped further inside, not sure where exactly he should go. For the second time today, he felt like he was trespassing on sacred ground.

After a few minutes of aimless wandering, he found what appeared to be the study. A box identical to the one he had taken from his father’s office was sitting on top of the desk. Almost as if it was waiting for him. The thought crossed his mind that maybe Peggy had placed it there before her illness had rendered her bedridden.

Tony slid down into the desk chair, gingerly opening the top. There was a neat bundle of letters, slowly he pulled them out, they already seemed to be in chronological order. It was much more neatly packed than his father’s had been. 

Tony had opened his father’s box back at the Avengers compound. He planned on having FRIDAY scan the letter so he could just use the digital copies, but something had told him to pack the physical letters instead, which he now placed on the desk.

Tony looked at the two stacks of letters. His hand faltered as he reached out for the first one. A feeling of apprehension overtook him. Was he really ready for whatever these letters contained? He had tried not to think too deeply into what he had uncovered in his father’s notes as he flew down to DC. But on the other hand, wasn’t that the whole reason he was here? The second he sliced open that lock in the father’s office he had unknowingly started pulling on a thread that he was too wrapped up in now to let go.

No, he wanted to know. Whatever he found he wanted to see it all the way through. In a strange way, he felt like he owed it to his father. He took one last steadying breath and pulled the first letter off the stack.

_Feb 6, 1944_

_Dear Peg,_

_I tried to fly back to [REDACTED] as soon as I heard the news, but [REDACTED]. Peg, I am so sorry, and I am so sorry that I can’t be there for you right now._

_As much as you may deny it to everyone else, you can’t deny it to me Peg. I know how much Steve meant to you. And I’m sorry it had to end like this._

_Steve was an incredible leader, hero, and friend. [REDACTED] was right in choosing him for [REDACTED], he represented the best of all of us._

_I also know that you’re not a coward like me, I know you won’t run away from your grief like I did. You were always the strong one Peg, but just remember you don’t have to be strong all the time._

_Love,_

_Howard_

_March 22, 1944_

_Dear Howard,_

_I’m sending this letter to you via backchannels to ensure that it actually gets to you, as well as to avoid the censorship department._

_I am not so sure about your charge of not being a coward. Now I understand why you had to leave London. I see Steve everywhere, the smallest thing reminds me of him, and how we, I, failed him. I always knew this war would require sacrifice Howard, god knows I’ve made many up to this point, I just wasn’t expecting this._

_It’s strange, when I reflect back on the amount of time that we actually spent together, it seems so brief, and yet I feel closer to him than I do people I’ve known my entire life. Do you feel the same with Bucky? Time refracted through the lens of war is funny that way I suppose._

_Take care of yourself in Budapest Howard._

_Love,_

_Peggy_

_April 16, 1944_

_Dear Peg,_

_I know exactly what you mean. It’s strange to think Bucky and I only truly worked together for what amounted to a couple months. It feels like a lifetime._

_We both took a chance at finding happiness in the hell of war Peg, and we both just weren’t able to hold on tight enough._

_By the time you get this letter, you’ll probably already have been briefed, but I just received news that I’m being recalled to America to join the Manhattan Project. Seems Oppenheimer has finally gotten over that grudge._

_Hopefully we can hurry up and win this war already. I’m dying to see ya Peg._

_Love,_

_Howard_

_May 1, 1945_

_Dear Howard,_

_I’m writing with good news, the tide is turning here in Europe, by the time this letter gets to you we may already be declaring victory. I’m hopeful Howard, for the first time in almost a year, I am hopeful._

_Without getting too far ahead of ourselves I am writing with a post-war request, as I am sure your skills will continue to be in high demand. With peace in Europe we can begin rebuilding. I have been placed in charge of recovery efforts surrounding Steve and the tesseract._

_I’ve already managed to secure the proper approvals as well as significant funding. Howard, would you come back to the SSR and lead the field search? I know it may not be the assignment you are used to, but if anyone can succeed at this, I know it is you._

_Send your reply via telegram, so I know when to expect you._

_Love,_

_Peggy_

_May 30, 1945_

_Dear Peg,_

_When I agreed to this post, I didn’t realize it would mean weeks on end on a ship poking around the Arctic Circle. Nothing to report as of yet, I’m sure you’ve reviewed my official reports. I’m getting pretty good at the whole memo writing thing aren’t I?_

_As I explained in my latest transmission, I think I’ve devised a way to track the energy signature given off by the tesseract, we can only hope that Steve is close by._

_Peggy, I know you vetted several search teams for this project, were there any that you could recommend that operate in the Austria area? I would like to propose a similar search effort for Bucky. He’s a Howling Commando too. And if the government is too stingy to fund it, I’ll do it myself._

_Hopefully I’ll be writing again soon with good news._

_Love,_

_Howard_

_June 5, 1945_

_Dear Howard,_

_You should know that when I started this project, I originally included Bucky in the proposal. I’m sorry, but there just isn’t the political willpower to fund a recovery mission. The top brass worried it would set a precedent they couldn’t support long term._

_I’ve included a write up of all the search teams I vetted for this project, along with my notes and a recommendation for an Austrian-based team. While I can’t get you government funding, if you run into any permitting or visa issues, let me know and I will ensure it has immediate sign-off. I wish I could provide more Howard, I really do._

_There are rumblings around Base of reassignment to the US. It’s unclear how exactly the SSR will continue following the war. This was a wartime agency after all. I have to admit, I am increasingly finding my expertise and opinions shoved to the side. It is a frustrating position to be in Howard. Especially when so many of the men walking around with their chests puffed out are little more than Neanderthals. They can’t honestly expect me just to step aside now can they? After all I’ve done, they act like I didn’t fight in this war alongside them._

_Personally, I think the two of us working with a trusted team could get a lot more done than the entire SSR, even with their considerable resources._

_Love,_

_Peggy_

_June 22, 1945_

_Dear Peg,_

_I know you likely have already gotten my transmission -- we found the tesseract! The combination of sonar technology along with gamma radiation tracing finally paid off!_

_You should know that I’ve scoured five square miles from the location of the tesseract, including calculations for drift and ocean current. Peg, I still haven’t found any trace of him. I have my oceanographers and mathematicians running as many models as possible._

_But I want to be frank with you. I didn’t put this in the report because I feared it would influence the continued support of this mission. However, looking over the data I am more and more convinced that it is likely the tesseract fell from the plane sometime prior to the crash, which means we’re no closer to finding him. He’s likely hundreds of miles away from this site._

_That doesn’t mean I’ve given up hope Peg, far from it. I just want you to be prepared for the reality that we still have a lot of ground to cover, and as of now, no leads on where to start. But I promise you Peg, I’ll turn over every rock in this goddamn sea myself if I have to._

_We will keep looking._

_Love,_

_Howard_

_August 7, 1945_

_Dear Howard,_

_You’ll likely get the official transmission early next week, but I wanted to be the one to tell you. The SSR is cutting funding for the search, and they are recalling you back to the US for a different assignment._

_Some are of the opinion that since we have found the tesseract the objective of the search has been met. I voiced my disagreement, however, I was overruled._

_Howard, it’s time to come home._

_Love,_

_Peggy_

_August 14, 1945_

_Dear Peggy,_

_I understand what you’re saying, but I just can’t accept it. Peggy, I promised you I would find him. I can’t stand the thought of failing you, of failing Steve._

_I keep playing the last conversation I had with Steve back, over and over again. We had a fight, did he tell you? After what I said, I can’t just walk away from this. I won’t abandon him._

_I promised I would turn over every stone in the ocean, and I will, even if I have to outfit my own crew and fund it myself. Peggy, I give you my word that for as long as I am alive, we will never stop searching for him._

_Love,_

_Howard_

Tony sat back for a moment, the ferocity in which the last few lines of the letter struck Tony. He remembered when he was taking over control of Stark Industries and Obadiah was talking him through all the corporate governance mumbo jumbo there was specific reference to the continued funding of a Captain America search team directly from Stark Industries profit before any bonuses could be paid out.

Tony had always thought it was just a PR stunt. Something his father had trotted out every year at the anniversary of Steve’s crash to remind politicians and investors that he was directly related to America’s favorite soldier. But now he was reevaluating that assumption.

At that moment he remembered the search crew documents that had been hidden in the box. He brought up the holographic copies that FRIDAY had made. It looked like his father had gone with the team Peggy had recommended, North Star Corp. 

According to the paperwork, his father had retained them shortly after receiving Peggy’s recommendation in 1945. The documents covered six years, and then suddenly stopped in September of 1951.

Tony paged through the contracts, but they didn’t include any report details. He looked back to the stack of letters, shuffling through until he reached September 1951. The correspondences following the war were much more sparse, which made sense. At that point both Peggy and his father were both stateside, often working together. There was likely little reason to write.

Finally, stuck between two letters, Tony came across a telegram dated September 8, 1951 addressed to Peggy. 

COME TO MANOR, FOUND B

_Fall 1951 - Howard_

Howard stepped back to admire his handiwork. He’d been up all night building the framework for the experimental antigravity chamber. He moved to the workbench to find a clean rag to wipe his hands.

“Jarvis?” he called out absently.

As if summoned Jarvis seemed to appear out of thin air.

“Yes, Mr. Stark?”

“What’s for dinner? I’m positively starved.” Howard began to climb the stairs out of the lab and up to the main house. Jarvis trailed behind. 

“Well seeing as it is nine o’clock in the morning, I am not entirely sure. What are you in the mood for?”

“Eh on second thought, I’m not that hungry, let’s just send away for a rack of lamb, some fries, asparagus, stewed tomatoes, and a cherry pie a la mode from that place I like, and oh! Make sure they include extra mint sauce.”

“At once, Sir,” Jarvis strode over to the table. “This just came for you this morning Sir, it’s marked urgent.”

Jarvis handed him what appeared to be a file folder wrapped in paper and neatly tied in string then busied himself calling in Howard’s order.

Howard tore off the string and brown paper, as soon as the North Star logo was visible he felt his heart stop. A few years ago he had instructed North Star to stop sending their annual updates, revealing that they had only uncovered animal bones, or on occasion a rare stone or artifact. He told them he would continue to pay their retainer regularly, but he only wanted them to send word if they actually found what he was looking for.

“Uh, nevermind about that food,” Howard called over his shoulder to Jarvis.

He made his way to his office, and quietly shut the door. Setting the folder down on his desk, he roughly scrubbed his hands over his face. Isn’t this what he had been waiting for? Isn’t this why he had contracted the team in the first place? Shouldn’t he be happy they found something? Anything? Howard considered this as he stared at the folder. Willing himself to feel glad, but instead, all he felt was sick to his stomach.

After pouring himself a slug of scotch, and pacing two full circuits around his office, he downed the rest of his drink and flipped open the folder. Slowly he started reading the report. He was surprised to see there wasn’t much to it.

_Please be advised that the team has recovered partial human remains. After extensive evaluation by our laboratory we have determined them to be a 92% match to Subject A (James Buchanan Barnes). Please advise delivery instructions for said remains. A detailed index of the recovery is provided below:_

  * _Left male scapula (partial)_
  * _Left male humerus_
  * _Left male humeroradial joint_
  * _Left male radius_
  * _Left male ulna (partial)_
  * _Assorted left male carpal and metacarpal bones (partial)_
  * _Assorted left finger bones (partial)_



Howard read the report four times, just to be sure he didn’t miss anything. Thinking that the next time he read it there would be more, there had to be more. Six years, close to four million dollars, and all they were able to recover was...an arm?

Frustrated Howard ripped the report to shreds. Heaving he stared down at the scraps that now decorated his desk. What exactly had he been expecting? Isn’t this what he had been waiting for all these years? Confirmation? What’s the word Peggy had used? Closure? Now, he could finally lay Bucky to rest, give him the funeral he deserved, and move on.

Howard continued to stare at the scraps. He must have stayed like that for a while, as the sun slowly started to fade from the room. Eventually, there was a soft knock from Jarvis. 

“Sir, I just wanted to check and see if I could be of any assistance?”

Howard blinked up at him. For a moment he didn’t know what to say. Jarvis stood patiently by the door. Finally Howard was able to shake himself from his stupor. 

“Yes,” he said gruffly. “Yes, Jarvis, please telephone North Star Corp. and arrange to have Bucky’s remains delivered to the manor with the utmost haste. Tell them I’ll give them double their fee for the year if they can have them here by tomorrow.”

“Yes, of course, Sir. And where are you going?”

“To send a telegram.”

###

Two days later Peggy and Howard were standing shoulder to shoulder staring silently down at the freshly turned earth in the Stark family plot. The afternoon was warm for September, the last fleeting grasp of summer before the chill of fall set in.

Finally, Peggy broke the heavy silence. “The headstone is really lovely Howard, you did a nice job.”

Howard had opted for a slab of almost pure white marble. For the engraving, he had simply put: James “Bucky” Barnes, March 10, 1917 - February 1, 1944, Beloved Friend, Brother-in-Arms, Hero.

“Yeah, you think? Thanks,” he answered distractedly. 

He continued to stare at the ground. Trying to force his mind to accept the fact that Bucky was finally at rest. But his mind seemed resolute to reject the thought.

Howard thought absently that he or Peggy should say a few words, but he could hardly bring himself to speak. He felt like his mouth had been filled with sand. And yet there was so much he wanted to say. So many things that over the last six years he had wished he had taken the time to share with Bucky when he could have. 

Their time together had been so fleeting. He wishes he could go back and tell himself to treasure it more, to hang on tighter. But even in the shadow of war, he knew both himself and Bucky had thought themselves invincible. Death was a specter that always hung overhead, but arrogantly neither of them thought it would touch them. The curse of being young he supposed. If anyone truly took the possibility of perishing on foreign soil seriously, no one would voluntarily enlist.

“Howard? Howard, are you listening?” Howard was pulled from his reverie as Peggy gently touched his shoulder. 

He gave her a dazed look. “What was that?”

“I said, why don’t you come down to DC for a spell? I’ve finally wrangled a meeting with the Joint Chiefs, I think we have the momentum needed to bring our vision of a reimagined SSR to life. I could really use your help getting everything off the ground.”

Howard knew what Peggy was doing, it was painfully obvious. The mere suggestion that Peggy couldn’t handle the creation and construction of an extra-governmental military counterterrorism agency on her own was honestly laughable Howard thought. She was Agent Carter after all. But, nonetheless, he found himself grateful for the invitation, it offered direction, purpose. Something he had been sorely lacking since he had been pulled off the search for Steve.

Howard forced a small smile. “That sounds real swell, Peg, thank you. I’d love to.”

Arm and arm they retreated back to the manor. Howard cast one more look over his shoulder. He started to whisper a quiet “goodbye,” but at soon as the words caught on his lips he swallowed them down.

“No,” he thought. “Not yet.”

_Fall 2016 - Tony_

Tony shuffled quickly through the rest of the letters but there didn’t seem to be anything else that was immediately relevant. He sat back in the chair, considering all that he had just read.

He felt like he still needed more, it was like trying to pin down mist. He was slowly creeping up to the growing likelihood that his father and the Winter Soldier were... _involved_. But that conclusion seemed to just raise even more questions.

Tony let out a frustrated grunt. “It just doesn’t make any sense!”

Logically he supposed the connections weren't that hard to draw in face of the mounting evidence, but his judgment was clouded by the raw emotion and anger the thought of the Winter Soldier still raised in him.

He turned back to the holographic projection of the contents of the box, looking through the files. He seemed to have fit most of the pieces together. The photo, the letter, the search team contracts, the grave. Then Tony’s eye caught on the document bearing the Smithsonian letterhead. He pulled it down to examine closer.

It was dated January 17, 1984. A letter from the curator thanking the Starks for their generous gift and inviting them to sit on the Air and Space Museum’s board of trustees. Tony flipped to the next page, it outlined the details of the gift. Apparently it was to fund a permanent exhibit on the Howling Commandos at the Air and Space Museum. There were some general stipulations for the exhibit, and on the very last page there was a subsection titled “Memorial of James “Bucky” Barnes.” It went on to detail the requirements for a display dedicated as a memorial and remembrance of “the only Howling Commando to give his life in active duty.”

“The Smithsonian,” Tony mused. He glanced at the clock, it was approaching 4:00 am. The record center at the Smithsonian Castle likely wouldn’t be opening in another five hours. 

“Okay, quick nap, then to the Smithsonian,” Tony mumbled to himself as he flung himself down on the overstuffed leather couch on the other side of the study.

“Just another stop on the Winter Soldier mystery tour,” he yawned before turning off the light and falling asleep almost instantly.

###

Tony stumbled into the records office of the Smithsonian Castle around 10:30, having slept longer than he intended, but arguably less than he should have.

The records office for donations was a cozy little room tucked in the upper floors of the red sandstone building. They didn’t seem to get a lot of visitors as there was only one employee working. An older gentleman sat behind the desk, he was balding and wearing tinted glasses. 

“I’m here about a donation made to the Air and Space Museum in 1984,” Tony started.

“A Mr. Tony Stark, I presume?” The man behind the desk said with a kind smile and a glint in his eye.

“How did you…” Tony started.

“Well, when Maria Stark made the donation…” 

“Wait,” Tony interrupted. “Maria Stark made the donation?”

The gentleman just continued to smile, when he seemed satisfied Tony wasn’t about to interrupt again he continued.

“When Maria made the donation, she stipulated two conditions, that it must be anonymous, and that the curator deliver this letter to her son, should he ever come asking about the donation. I’ve been waiting thirty-two years for you to show up.”

And with that, he turned to the file cabinet behind his desk and shuffled through some folders. When he turned back to Tony he was holding a thick ivory envelope. Tony could just make out his mother’s elegant script on the front.

“I…” Tony started. “What’s in it?”

“I wouldn’t presume to know, it’s sealed. But it’s always nice to know one’s origins,” he responded with a wink.

Tony stepped forward to take the envelope without another word. He carefully ran his hand over his mother’s handwriting, it’d been so long since he’d seen it. He felt his eyes growing wet.

He breathed in and turned to go. Just as he was about to leave he glanced back.

“Thanks, Mr…” Tony’s eyes drifted down to the nameplate on the desk. “Mr. Lee.”

Once outside, Tony took a seat in the rose garden of the Smithsonian Castle. He neatly sliced open the top of the envelope and pulled out the thick collection of stationary pages. He let out a half sob, half laugh when he saw they were covered in his mother’s handwriting. God, he missed her. Silently he wiped his eyes and started reading.

_My Dear Son,_

_If you are reading this I am led to make two assumptions. First, since we are having this discussion via letter instead of over coffee, I am likely no longer with you, and I would surmise to say the same for your father. I am so sorry my love. I only hope that our passing was not too hard on you, and I must say selfishly for my own sake I hope that it was relatively painless._

_The second assumption is that you finally found that locked box in the bottom of your father’s desk. Furthermore, if you are half the voracious researcher now as you are at the time of writing, I would hazard to say you spent the last few days pouring over your father’s old notes trying to decipher its meaning._

_Well my son, while I would never begin to doubt your research and deductive skills. I am here to provide some context, and hopefully, fill a few of the gaps in your studious endeavor. The best way to do that, I believe, is to take you back to when your father and I first met._

_The first thing you must understand is that while I wouldn’t label my marriage to your father arranged, it was certainly strategic. You father had a bit of an infamous reputation, which was fine when he was playing the part of young war-hero genius, but as we got further out from the war there were rumbling among some of the politicians in charge of government contracts, questioning if it was wise to keep throwing millions at such a carefree bachelor. Your father needed to settle down in order for Stark Industries to continue to grow. Also, while your father was a completely self-made man, a fine example of the American Dream, there were some that still turned their noses up at the son of a fruit seller gracing the halls of old New York society, the stigma of new money._

_My family, on the other hand, was one of the oldest society names in New York, but we had lost a lot in the Crash. Our match made sense, Howard would be able to project the image of a stable responsible family man, and finally silence the whispers that followed him at society events. While I would help re-solidify my family’s standing and secure a safe financial future for my parents and siblings. As I said, strategic._

_At the time, I didn’t have particularly strong feelings about it. I always knew that my marriage would be for the betterment of my family, regardless of who it was to. It was what I was groomed for, to be the perfect society wife. And while I may have dreamt of other things in my youth, things labeled by my mother as childish fantasies, I had put those dreams to bed, accepting this as my inevitable role._

_I’ll never forget the first time I met your father. A regatta in the Hamptons. I was so nervous. I had heard so many stories about the awful flirt and womanizer your father was. But when I met him I was surprised, he was nothing like the gossip columns made him out to be. Instead, he was aloof and restrained. Charming of course, he did and said all the right things. Over the several months of our courtship, your father was the picture of the perfect gentleman. I actually found myself quite enjoying spending time with him, and I loved the way he doted on my younger siblings._

_After an appropriate amount of time had passed, my parents started not-so-subtly hinting at their desire for a proposal. I still remember it vividly. Your father had been acting strange all day. We were out for a walk in the manor garden, taking the sun, when he turned to me suddenly and asked if he could show me something._

_We walked to the family graveyard and sat gazing at the headstones for quite awhile. Eventually, slowly, your father started telling me about Bucky. Their time in the war together, their love, and your father’s loss. Watching your father recount it all, Tony I felt my heart break right alongside him. At that moment, I knew your father’s heart was already taken._

_He told me as much that afternoon, he said it wouldn't be right for him to ask for my hand in marriage. What your father didn’t understand was that my heart belonged to another as well. However, that is a story for a different time. But you see my love, your father and I were two of a pair._

_We decided to go through with the marriage, our bond built on companionship and trust. And slowly, over the years that companionship turned into a kind of love, for both me and your father. I understand this may be jarring to hear my love, but I assure you, your father and I loved each other deeply, in our own ways._

_While I am not sure how old you will be when reading this, I can only imagine that over the course of your life thus far, you have reached the unalienable conclusion that people are nothing short of complex beings. Each one of us, containing multitudes._

_Your father was an exceptionally complicated man Tony. Nothing pained me more than to witness the strain of your relationship. And while I will not deign to speak for your father, I hope you know how much he loved you and how proud he was. But the ghosts of his past weighed heavy on his soul, and were often just too much for him to bear, although he would never be one to admit it._

_Your father loved Bucky for his entire life, and he never stopped mourning that loss. The war left scars on him that not even time could heal. Between you and I, I think it was because a part of him believed Bucky was still out there. As I am sure you have divined from the records, your father spent a small fortune dredging the site of Bucky’s fall. And while the team eventually uncovered what they believed to be a few arm bones, they were never able to find any other remains._

_Your father buried what was found and erected a headstone. I think he thought that perhaps it would give him closure. But I believe in the back of his mind he was never satisfied with the recovery team’s inability to find more. And like you, my sweet son, once an idea took hold in your father’s mind nothing could dissuade it from slowly growing to an all-encompassing obsession._

_Over the years, your father has been pursuing possible leads through his connections at SHIELD that perhaps Bucky was not killed by the fall, but instead taken as a POW by Hydra. It has all been off the record and on deep background, I doubt there would even be any paper trail for you to follow-up on in his notes._

_I’ll admit that over the years I’ve had mixed feelings about your father’s insistence to continue down this path. And while I can’t understand, I can appreciate the deep yearning for answers. Sometimes, I think his dedicated hope of finding Bucky is the only thing that keeps him going._

_As I draw this letter to a close, I worry that perhaps my words have only raised more questions than they have provided answers. While there are many more things I wish I could share with you my love, I think from here only you can choose how to continue this journey you have found yourself on. I love you with my whole heart Tony. As is the wish for every mother, I hope the future has treated you with kindness._

_Love,_

_Mom_

Tony read over the letter twice, soaking in the joy and the sadness that came with his mom’s words. He stared at her closing charge, weighing his next steps. Happy couples and laughing children passed by as he sat rooted in spot, turning everything over in his mind. Finally, he rose from the bench, knowing what he had to do next. He had to find Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maria will always be God-tier in my book.
> 
> Also, did you catch my Stan Lee cameo?
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading and commenting.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Trigger Warning - Mentions of torture, to skip start at section titled Winter Soldier - 1963

1944-1961

_Bucky_

Bucky sputtered awake as the cold water that had been thrown on him finally wrenched him back into consciousness. His limbs flailed and suddenly he was choking. He struggled to breathe as sharp metal cut into his neck. His panic made him struggle harder, the more he moved the tighter the metal teeth of the chain dug into his throat, threatening to cut off his airway.

Just as his terror was about to consume him, he squeezed his eyes shut and willed himself to find some semblance of calm. As his frantic movements stopped the bite of steel on his neck lessened slightly. 

He finally took a ragged breath and opened his eyes, desperate to get his bearings. His gaze clawed through the dark, trying to find something besides blackness. Slowly his sight adjusted to his dim surroundings. He realized he was in some kind of grimy cell as metal bars materialized out of the dark.

He pressed his blurred vision further. He suddenly realized he wasn’t alone. There was a woman seated just beyond the bars. She sat ramrod straight in a perfectly pressed all-black uniform. Even in the dark, Bucky could make out the blood-red Hydra seal emblazoned on her chest, the red skull and curling tentacles seemed to be the only bit of color in the room. 

The woman regarded Bucky with a detached kind of interest. Bucky slowly met her gaze and a ghost of a smirk flickered across the woman’s lips.

“Good to have you with us, soldier.” Her voice was clipped and perfectly neutral. There was no trace of an accent, hardly any variation in pitch or tone. It was as if he was speaking with a ghost.

Bucky only grunted in response, he suddenly realized that he was desperately thirsty, this throat felt like sandpaper. He wondered absently when the last time he ate or drank was. He shut his eyes, what was the last thing he even remembered?

The train, the fall, the blindingly white snow stained red, Steve finding him...no, not Steve. He shuddered. Then...a table, just like the factory. And that face, the same face that had haunted him since Steve had saved him. 

Bucky suddenly remembered the metal arm that he dreamed of. But just as the thought flashed across his mind, he felt his left index finger twitch. Bewildered Bucky looked down.

His arms were bound behind him in what appeared to be some kind of modified straightjacket. He twisted to get a better look over his left shoulder when he suddenly realized it wasn’t his shoulder at all, it was...it was Howard’s body armor? 

Bucky thrashed harder trying to look at the arm that was twisted behind his back. Suddenly he was choking again. It seemed that his metal arm was connected to a sharp chain around his neck, every time he moved his arm more than a few inches it caused the chain to pull tight around his neck, suffocating him.

He sputtered and coughed, heaving on his knees. Once his panting died down he heard the woman in front of him let out an exasperated sigh. 

“Since you seem to be struggling to wrap your mind around the setup, let me spell it out for you slowly soldier.” Soundlessly she rose from the chair and stepped up to the bars.

“You lost your arm in the fall, moments from bleeding out Hydra operatives recovered you. We not only saved your life, but repurposed your vibranium armor into a state of the art arm and weapon. However, since we expected a less than warm thank you on your part once you regained consciousness, much less enthusiasm in your new role as Hydra operative, you have been sent to me for...reeducation.”

The woman relayed all of this in the same clipped, emotionless, cadence as before. She said it as if she was telling Bucky the weather, or discussing the traffic. 

“I’ll never work for Hydra,” Bucky spat. Just the mere suggestion made bile rise in his throat.

The woman’s ice blue eyes regarded him silently. 

“You're not the first to say that to me, soldier,” the woman paused, studying her nails. When she looked back at Bucky her eyes held a kind of cold heat Bucky had never experienced. It was if he was looking death itself in the eye. “And yet, in the end, they all break. You will too soldier, you will too.”

“My name,” Bucky ground out. “Is Bucky.”

“No,” the woman responded. 

Before Bucky could even register what was happening, she swiftly unsheathed and extended a thin metal rod. With movements as fluid as water she swung the rod between the bars, striking Bucky on his flesh shoulder, instantly shattering his clavicle. Bucky crumpled to the floor, temporarily blinded by the shock of pain.

The woman crouched down, she deftly maneuvered the rod under Bucky's chin, tilting his head up to meet her smooth emotionless face. When Bucky finally forced his eyes open, her eyes burned into him.

“You don’t have a name anymore,” she said simply.

And with that, she retracted the rod and stood. Already turning on her heel to walk away.

“I’m looking forward to our time together, soldier,” she called over her shoulder. “I have no doubt that you will present an entertaining case.”

##

Bucky hazily tried to count the dim fluorescent lights that flickered above him as he was dragged back to his cell, trying to maintain his flimsy grasp on consciousness. The guards roughly deposited him back in the cell, locking the gate on their way out.

Bucky rolled over to his side and drew his knees to his chest, slowly rocking back and forth, trying in vain to give his body some sense of calm.

They still had him straightjacketed. He has won a few glorious days of freedom from it recently, but it was quickly refitted after he overpowered three guards using his metal arm. Now his only time without it on was his daily workouts, during which he was fitted with an electric collar that the woman controlled as he completed his exercises under her watchful eye.

Bucky ran his tongue over his back teeth. They had removed three of his molars today, all while Bucky was fully conscious. And they had done it slowly, twisting the pliers as they went, all to exact maximum pain.

As Bucky’s eyes swam with pain, he could just make out the woman’s small sick smile, as she stood in the corner, instructing the technicians every move with her smooth, emotionless voice. 

Bucky knew from experience that his molars would grow back by morning. He had quickly realized that his body seemed to now have enhanced healing abilities. Something that, at first, seemed like a gift, he had quickly realized was a curse. It meant that there was no break from the woman. 

Every night the guards would return his broken body to his cell, bearing the scars of whatever sadistic torture the woman had dreamed up, only for every mark to be all but gone by morning. A blank canvas that seemed to beg the woman to mar it again, and again, and again.

Bucky had lost all semblance of time. It was worse than his time in the factory. He vaguely knew he had been here longer than he had been at the factory, a lot longer. But he couldn’t be sure just how long. Months? Years? Those words hardly held meaning for him any longer. 

The guards did everything to mislead him. They constantly changed his sleeping schedule, sometimes he would wake, unsure if he was asleep for mere hours or days. They interchangeably went between starving him and force-feeding him, at varying intervals. The entire facility he was housed in seemed to be underground, he hadn’t seen the sun since the fall. 

In essence, he had no idea when or where he was. An unmooring that only grew more alarming the more time that passed, as it seemed to mirror his mental grounding as well.

But nothing was worse than the woman, she pervaded his every thought, he never had a moment of peace. She would soundlessly appear while he slept, jolting him awake just to stare at him, remind him that she was always watching. She directed all of his daily torture, both physical and mental.

“You can make this stop, soldier,” she would taunt him. “You have the power, all you have to do is say those three little words.”

Ready to comply.

That was the phrase that had been drilled into him by the woman. The words that were meant to signify he had finally broken.

“Fuck that,” Bucky breathed to himself, as he eased himself over to the back wall of his cell, slowly resting his head against the wall.

He breathed out slowly, trying to catalog his injuries. In addition to the missing teeth, he counted two cracked ribs and likely a shattered knee cap. Even though his hands were bound behind his back, he knew he was also missing several fingernails from his real hand. While they always grew back, Bucky thought they would likely forever have a blackish-purplish hue, irrevocably damaged for being removed so regularly.

Bucky closed his eyes, concentrating. He willed his mind to conjure Howard’s face. It was his ritual. He might not know what day it was, if the Allies had won or lost the war, he might not remember the sound of his mother's voice, or be able to recite his home address, but he'd be damned if he ever forgot a single detail about Howard. 

It was his only reprieve. It seemed that the convalescence of his very soul depended on his nightly vigil. Holding on to his memory, was the only thing that made him still feel human. It was the only thing that gave him hope, and the willpower to face another day. 

He liked to start with Howard's black quip of hair, always so artfully styled. He missed carding his fingers through it, or nuzzling against it when they slept, the fine hairs tickling Bucky’s nose and eyes.

Next Bucky would work down to his face. The image he drew always included Howard’s signature goggles, usually haphazardly pushed up on his forehead, a smudge of grease here or there. 

Then his dark expressive eyes, the color of just roasted coffee beans that Howard coveted so much. Those eyes would focus on you with passionate intensity, it didn't matter if the topic was his latest technological development or the quality or Army sugar. There was always heat there, a gentle kind of constant warmth that Bucky longed to see again.

His eyes were complemented by his sharp cheeks and finely groomed facial hair. Bucky strained his memory to recall the smell of Howard's aftershave. Warm and a little spicy, the smell melded together with the rest of Howard creating a scent that now Bucky could only describe as the smell of home.

Lastly, Bucky would think of Howard's mouth, twisted into a playful smirk, or the way he would absently bite his lower lip when deep in thought. But mostly Bucky tried to remember what it felt like to have his smooth lips pressed against his own, the warmth of his mouth and the taste of coffee mingled with tobacco and sweetness.

Hydra seemed to know a lot about Bucky. They knew the names of his family, that he was close with Steve, where he grew up, what school he had attended as a kid, where and who he served with. All information they ruthlessly used to torment him.

But it seemed they hadn't yet gleaned his relationship with Howard, or that he and Howard were even close. It made Bucky feel strong, to still have a little piece of his life just to himself. Something Hydra couldn't take and twist into something unrecognizable and wrong. His memories of Howard were his only solace, and he clung to them like a drowning man clung to the last piece of driftwood in an unforgiving stormy sea.

##

“There is no nobility in your resistance, soldier.” The woman was seated in front of his cell again, watching him with her cold eyes as Bucky sat shivering, still dripping wet from the waterboarding she had submitted him to just moments before.

Bucky willed himself not to rise to her bait, but his nerves were completely frayed, coupled with the recent bout of sleep deprivation and malnutrition, he found the filer between his mouth and his brain was all but gone.

“This can’t go on forever,” he mumbled mostly to himself. “I’ll die before I ever comply.”

The woman let out a short cruel laugh.

“You still don’t get it, do you soldier?” She made a soft tutting sound. “Honestly I thought you had it at least partially figured out.”

She stood and slowly stalked towards the bars. She paused, running her fingers gently over the grimy steel. Then the woman’s hand shot out, grabbing the back of Bucky’s head and bringing his face right up to her own through the bars. Bucky was too weak to pull back, and besides, he didn’t really have anywhere to go.

Bucky flinched internally, readying himself for the cold crack of the woman’s slender steel rod. But instead, he felt her gently stroke his cheek. Bucky’s eyes flew open, surprise written across his face.

“You cannot defeat me, you cannot outlive me,” her voice was a hushed whisper, almost as if she was comforting a small child. “If one day you should overpower me and kill me I will only be replaced by another,” she continued to stroke his face. 

“I am but a small cog in an undefeatable machine, replaceable,” she brought her other hand up to Bucky’s face and held his face perfectly level with her’s. Their eyes a mere inches apart. 

“You cannot escape this soldier, no matter how many years pass, no matter the number of agents it takes, we will break you.”

“No,” Bucky croaked. “No, this can’t go on forever.”

The woman sighed, as if Bucky was a petulant pupil that refused to accept her lesson. She released his head and slowly returned to her chair a few feet across from his cell. She gracefully retook her seat, crossing her ankles and folding her hands in her lap.

“Yes, soldier, it actually can.”

Bucky waited for her to continue, but she only returned his stare with her signature smooth emotionless face. Finally, she moved to speak again.

“When Dr. Erskine developed his version of the super soldier serum he was deeply focused on not only the physical transformation, but the emotional and psychological transformation of the subject as well. He believed he could amplify the good in someone. 

“When Dr. Zola began reworking the formula for Hydra, we had...other more pertinent objectives. Unlike Erskine and your American counterparts, we were less concerned with the inner spirit of the subject. Such individualism is so uniquely American it seems, I almost find it quaint.

“No, we are much more concerned with efficiency. You now represent a significant investment, and how do you ensure return on investment? You make sure you can extract maximum use.”

The woman shifted, leaning forward in her seat, balancing her elbows to her knees and bringing her hands under her chin to rest her face on. 

“What I am trying to say, soldier, is you can try to outlive this, but by our doctor’s calculations it’ll be sixty, seventy years until your body physically ages the equivalent of one. And me? I’ve hardly even begun my best work. So my advice? Settle in, accept your new fate. Comply. Should it take another five years, or fifty, you will be the Fist of Hydra.”

##

After seventeen years, Bucky still hadn’t broken. Bucky didn’t know exactly how much time had passed, but he knew it was significant. While his body hadn’t aged, the woman’s had. Her smooth emotionless face now had the faintest traces of wrinkles around her eyes and mouth and her hair was streaked with gray.

One day, Bucky was led into a room he had never seen before. It was cluttered with computers and other instruments, all connected to a chair in the center of the room. Two large mechanical arms ominously loomed over the center. 

By this point, Bucky was largely desensitized to the horrors of torture, but something about this apparatus made him uneasy.

As he’s ushered inside he hears the woman conversing with the technicians seated at the control panel.

“I understand you two are the top memory specialists at the Red Room these days,” the woman says.

“Yes,” one of the bespeckled techs answers. “For the last three years we’ve been using electro-augmented memory protocol to wipe the memories of older recruits and replace them with manufactured memories that are more amenable to operatives of the Red Room.”

One of the guards pushed Bucky towards the chair and began the process of strapping him in. Bucky hardly pays any mind, he’s used to being handled at this point. But he strains to continue to hear the rest of the conversation between the woman and the techs.

“If I may,” the other tech interjects timidly. “I feel that it is important to note that the oldest subject we have used this protocol on with success was roughly fourteen years old, and even then what we were wiping was extremely targeted...” the tech seemed to lose some of his nerve as the woman turned her icy stare on him.

“It’s just...we’ve never performed a full wipe on someone, let alone someone with an already augmented physiology, we don’t know the long term effects or how the mind will react,” he finished meekly.

The woman smiles slightly. 

“So long as he retains basic motor functions and language skills, it doesn’t matter. Everything else can be retaught.”

With that she stalks towards Bucky. He watches her as she moves to a tray to his right, and picks up a mouthguard, moving to hold it out to Bucky.

Bucky grudgingly accepts it, years of experience have taught him that if he refuses the woman won’t hesitate to just break his jaw and wire the mouthguard in place. Her smile grows as Bucky slips the mouthguard between his teeth.

The woman turns back to the tech and continues speaking.

“His years of American combat training are substandard anyway, even with our regimented workouts he retains many bad habits. This will be an efficient way to give the training team a clean slate to work with, we can mold him to be exactly what we need.”

The techs looked at each other, their uncertainty plainly written on their faces. But the woman seemed unperturbed.

Slowly the arms retracted down, one piece fitted almost completely over his left eye, the other fit just below his right. He could still make out the woman standing in front of him as the machine whirled to life.

She looked him dead in his one unobscured eye. “An asset has no need for memories.”

That was the last thing Bucky heard before electricity was coursing through him and he lost everything else to blackness, the only thing he was conscious of was the sound of his screams.

_The Winter Soldier_

1963

The Winter Soldier rolled his neck and shook out his trigger hand. He’d been lying in wait for at least three hours, hardly moving, watching through his scope.

His mission was relatively simple. Straight-forward sniper assassination. Compared to the conditions he had trained for, this assignment seemed too easy. He supposed his handlers were still easing him into the field. However, judging by the body language of his handler, he felt this target must have been more high profile than the other assassinations he’d already carried out.

The Winter Soldier didn’t know who exactly his target was. The only information he was given was a location and a photo. He didn’t need any other information for this particular mission, everything else was superfluous. The target was an enemy of Hydra, and he had been assigned to eliminate him. Simple. 

Once he had confirmation he silently packed his rifle and made his way to the rendezvous point just outside of Dallas. He ditched the car he had stolen at the edge of town and took to a footpath that twisted through a wooded area.

He broke through the line of trees and found himself on a grassy hill, the crystal blue Texas sky stretching above him. The Winter Soldier stopped dead in his tracks, he couldn’t will his feet to take another step as he gazed at the scene in front of him. He almost felt that he was watching a clip from a movie. Grassy hill, blue sky, sun shining brightly…

He felt a jolt in his chest. He has seen this before. Or been here before? No...he quickly ran through his mental mission report index, no he had never been dispatched to this area before. 

The Winter Soldier looked around, blinking in the light. Where was he? Suddenly a mind-numbing headache crashed over him forcing him to his knees. His stomach threatened to empty its contents as he desperately tried to swallow down the taste of acid on his tongue.

He stared at the ground, trying to even out his breathing, as his vision blurred. He shut his eyes, and a hazy image slowly materialized, he was standing on a hill, much like this one but he was dressed differently, a loose button-up and suspenders. Something in his mind screamed for him to move his head, to look behind him, but he was frozen in place.

The Winter Soldier screwed his eyes shut tighter, digging his hands into the cool soil trying to ground himself. No. He didn’t remember anything. He was the Fist of Hydra, he was an asset, a tool, an obedient soldier. He repeated the mantra over and over again until the vision in his mind slowly evaporated.

Finally, the spinning slowed and he was able to stand up. He took a few shaky steps, he felt like he was walking through quicksand. Eventually, he made it the rendezvous point and signaled for his pick-up.

“You’re eight minutes late,” was his handler’s only comment before ushering him into the debriefing room.

The Winter Soldier methodically recounted all of the details of the mission up until his episode on the hill. He was about to disclose the bout of sickness that came over him but something stopped him, a reflexive mental signal, like pulling your hand away from a hot pan, just as he was about to speak his mouth snapped shut.

“And then, soldier?” his handler prompted.

“And then I walked 1.8 kilometers south-southwest to the rendezvous point. One car passed on the country road 2 kilometers east of my location, light green, license plate TX-788-9CX. I then made contact with agents as directed, signaling for a pick-up.”

His handler nodded. “Right, you may now be escorted for your post-mission decompression,” he said without looking up from the report he was writing.

The Winter Soldier silently rose from his seat and waited for the guards to lead him to the next room for his physical evaluation. He would have two weeks of additional combat and tech training before entering cryo again. 

As he lay on the table while the techs checked over his arm he desperately tried to keep his mind from wandering back to the hill, as much as he tried to push the image down, it felt like a flame had taken light inside his mind. Its ghostly glow taunting him with an image just out of reach. 

##

Date Unknown

Over the years, the Winter Soldier would slowly collect more little flames. While he didn’t know exactly what they meant, he guarded them jealously. It was strange to him, having something all his own. For as long as he remembered he had never had any semblance of privacy, he had nothing that was truly his. An asset doesn’t need attachments. Another mantra from his mentor.

But these small hazy sparks that offered glimpses into...something...the Winter Soldier wasn’t exactly sure what, they were his and his alone. Some kind of beautiful abstract collage. They were the first thing he thought of when they brought him out of cryo, and the last thing he thought of as they prepped him to go back under. He clung to them intensely, desperate to preserve them through each wipe. A true testament to his will.

They didn’t happen every mission, far from it. But recently he had amassed a large enough collection that it took exactly 87 seconds for him to run through all of them in his mind. Those 87 seconds were the only time he felt remotely close to the emotion “happiness” that he had been taught to mimic when under deep cover for extended infiltrations.

Dallas 1963, a grassy hill and blue sky, a button-up shirt with suspenders. Chicago 1969, the sound of piano music spilling out of a jazz club. Brussels 1971, the expensive spicy scent of men’s aftershave. Madrid 1973, a mechanic’s goggles. Frankfurt 1977, a woman in an elegant red dress walking alone. Paris 1980, condensation from a beer bottle slowly rolling down on to his real hand. Cairo 1981, a revulsion to canned sardines. Bogota 1985, the smell of fresh-brewed coffee. Stockholm 1986, falling out of a too-small bed. Belfast 1987, an old Action Comics on display in a pawn shop. Timișoara 1989, a water pitcher and basin.

These tiny sparks, hazy moments that slipped through his fingers like smoke every time he tried to push his mind to bring them into sharper focus, they both haunted and comforted him. 87 seconds. It wasn’t a lot. But it was enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the dates you can probably guess where the next chapter is headed...


	10. Chapter 10

December 16, 1991

_Howard_

Howard smiled as he placed the last shirt in his suitcase and closed the top. The soft strains of Maria’s piano playing floated back to the bedroom. He was looking forward to their weekend in the Bahamas. He’d been so tied up in putting this finishing touches on the new serum, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had free time to spend with Maria, let alone go on vacation.

He strode out to the living room. Just as he was about to cross the threshold he paused, soaking in the sound of Maria’s quiet singing. It wrapped him in a kind of calm he hadn’t felt in ages. He looked up and his eyes fell on Tony’s sleeping form, curled under a blanket on the couch with a Santa hat tucked on his head.

He knew he’d gotten in late last night, Howard was still working in his lab when he heard the garage door softly open. His instinct was to go up and pull Tony into a hug, tell him welcome home. But, as he listened to the sound of footsteps above him, Howard had stayed glued to his workbench.

Tony truly was his pride and joy. However, they were so alike, talking to him was almost like looking through a window to his own past. And as much as he tried to cabin the self-loathing he felt for the arrogance of his younger self, he’d done a piss poor job curbing the effect it had on his interactions with Tony. 

All he wanted was for Tony to be better, better than he ever could. Free from the ghosts of his past failures that haunted him. Free from the guilt, the doubt, and the crushing sadness that lurked around his every corner, unwittingly descending him when he least expected it. Every time he found himself reaching out to Tony, he couldn’t help but pull back, terrified that somehow his demons were contagious. 

He desperately wanted to shield Tony from the harsh realities of his own life. So, he worked tirelessly to ensure Tony wanted for nothing. The best schools, tutors, extensive travel and cultural immersion opportunities, exposure to the arts, access to top of the line materials and workspace as soon as he’d shown a predilection for inventing and engineering. He wanted him to have everything.

However, somehow along the way in his quest to ensure Tony had every opportunity, a chasm had grown between them that now was only bridged with sarcastic barbs exchanged in the limited interactions they did have.

But he was determined to change that in the coming year. Tony was close to finishing his studies, it was Howard’s hope that Tony would take him up on the offer to come work alongside him at Stark Industries that he had made over an otherwise disastrous Thanksgiving. 

Howard knew his communication skills left a lot to be desired, especially with Tony. But the idea of working together, building and inventing together, it was his attempt at a flimsy olive branch that he desperately hoped Tony would take. Maria had counseled him not to push the subject, let Tony come to the decision on his own, whatever it may be. He had a feeling Maria was whispering in Tony’s ear about it as well.

Howard smiled to himself, God, that woman really was a saint. Her compassion knew no bounds. She always knew just what to say. He likely would have lost it years ago if Maria hadn’t somehow found her way into his life, and for that, he was truly glad.

He shrugged on his suit jacket and walked into the living room to let Maria know it was time to go. Just a quick stop by the Pentagon to drop-off the finalized batch of serum and then off to paradise. 

He peeked under the blanket, waking Tony in the process. He desperately wanted to ask him if he had given any thought to his offer, but he bit his tongue, opting for sarcasm instead. No, there would be plenty of time to talk about it when they returned next week. 

##

“So,” Howard started, trying to sound casual. “Did Tony mention anything to you about his plans for after graduation?”

He glanced over at Maria who was smiling softly at him from the passenger seat.

“Honestly, Howard, why don’t you just ask him?”

“Well you said not to push!” Howard gripped the steering wheel tighter.

“You do know there is a difference between pushing a topic and discussing it, right?”

“Of course I know that!” Howard sighed. “It just seems that…” Howard’s sentence trailed off as he looked at the sudden appearance of a bright light in his rearview mirror rapidly gaining on them.

“What the hell…”

Before he could even finish his thought, a motorcycle pulled up along the side of the car. There was a loud crack and suddenly the car was spinning out of control. Howard attempted to steady it, but it was no use, seconds later the car was skidding off the road and slammed abruptly into a tree.

Moments later Howard blinked awake, his whole body ached. Confused, he looked down. The airbags...why didn’t they deploy? His mind swam in a pain-induced haze. He was vaguely aware the engine was on fire.

“Maria…” he grunted. “Maria...we have to...get out...fire…” he struggled with the handle on the door. Finally, it released and he toppled out, hitting the hard ground. 

“Maria,” he called. He could hear her whimpering from the passenger seat. “Maria…” he said through labored breaths. “I’m coming…”

His head was spinning, he pitched forward as he attempted to crawl back to the other side of the car. It was then that he realized they weren’t alone. 

“Help!” he called. “Please...please...my wife…” he desperately pleaded with the shadowy figure above him.

Just as he reached out his hand, the figure stepped forward into the light, picking him up by the scruff of his neck and throwing him back against the side of the car with enough force to dent the door.

Howard coughed, squeezing his eyes shut. Pain shot through his ribcage. Broken rib he calculated, hopefully, it hadn’t yet punctured his lung. Gasping he opened his eyes to look upon his attacker.

And just like that, he felt his entire world come to a sudden screeching halt. Everything seemed to fall away, leaving only a deep and deadly silence. The milliseconds stretched into years as Howard tried to comprehend the sight in front of him. The last fifty years of searching, mourning, and hoping seemed to flash before his eyes.

“Bucky?” Howard whispered the name as if it was made of glass, poised to shatter.

How was this possible? Howard frantically searched the figure’s face. It was undeniably Bucky, as if his likeness had been frozen in time, unmarred by the passing years. But there was something wrong. His eyes. 

The mirth they had always danced with was extinguished. Instead, they were replaced with two vacant, icy wells that betrayed no warmth or sense of recognition. That small change alone rendered him almost unrecognizable. Staring into those eyes, searching for the man he loved, Howard realized the fear he’d harbored all these years was, in fact, reality.

The ghost of the fate that had been whispering in his mind since the crew had only recovered an arm. The fate he’d spent the better part of the last three decades trying desperately to disprove. The fate that wrenched him from sleep in a cold sweat year after year. Bucky’s fate. He had survived the fall by the hand of Hydra.

“Bucky,” he choked out, feeling his heart clench in his chest. “What did they do to you?” He wanted to sob but found he was unable to draw a breath, the pain in his ribcage having increased tenfold.

He started to feebly reach his hand out to the face that he had spent the last fifty years yearning to see again. God, he’d dreamt of this moment a thousand times, but not like this, never like this.

All these years, he knew, _just knew_ , that Bucky was still alive. It was as if his very soul could _feel_ that Bucky was there, somewhere, desperately screaming Howard’s name, only for his voice to fall on deaf ears while Howard wrestled with smoke, trying in vain to divine his location, instead chasing deadend after deadend.

The knowledge had nearly driven Howard to madness, what was worse is after years of meticulous searching, he didn’t have a shred of evidence other than the whispers in his mind that never quieted. 

But he had never given up hope. Even in the depths of his darkest nights, Howard had remained steadfast to the belief that he could find Bucky, bring him home. And now, seeing him in front of him, a vacant-eyed puppet of Hydra, Howard knew that he had truly failed. 

He thought back to the summer they’d met. Bucky rocking back and forth on the stool from the other side of his workbench at the Italian front, absently chewing on the end of a pencil as he watched Howard work. His easy laughter, the quiet drawl of his Brooklyn accent, his gentle calloused hand, the way he’d talk with a cigarette dangling from the side of his mouth just like Humphrey Bogart. 

Howard longed to wrap the man in front of him in the memories of the days that had been. The spark that had stoked a fire inside his heart that burned bright to this day. He ached to return with him to the past, their past.

But, it could not be. Howard was violently ripped from his reverie as something with the force of a train slammed into his face, once, twice, three times. The pain rendered him blind as he was roughly dragged back into the burning vehicle. In the blackness his last thoughts were of Bucky’s blue eyes dancing with laughter. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” he murmured as he slowly surrendered to the dark.

_The Winter Soldier_

The Winter Soldier squinted through the darkness. From his perch in the woods he had a clear view of the twisting back road. If his reconnaissance was correct, which it always was, the car should be pulling around the curve in approximately four minutes.

Eyes glued to the road, the Winter Soldier ran through his mission objectives again. First, secure the case containing the serum. Second, eliminate the two targets, a man and a woman, but make it look like an accident. Third, ensure the car was completely burned so that the missing case wouldn’t be noticed. 

It wasn’t his most complicated mission, far from it. Still, as he methodically went back through all the briefing information, his handler had been acting strangely when he went over the targets. Even more strange, the cryo specialists had been present for the briefing, observing his reaction to the targets’ photos.

The Winter Soldier usually didn’t concern himself with trying to understand the ulterior motives of his handlers. It was always unimportant to the mission. But years of methodical briefings had made him extra sensitive to any deviations from standard procedure. He was perceptive. It is what they had trained him for, and his strategic evaluations extended from the field to his keepers.

The Winter Soldier thought it was likely just internal politics. The faces of Hydra agents constantly changed around him as he came in and out of cryo at varying intervals, new recruits and upstarts jockeying for better positions. But still, he filed it away, just in case.

At that moment he saw headlights come around the bend. He revved his motorcycle and maneuvered to the road. He accelerated along the passenger side of the car and deftly shot out the front tire, making the car lose control and go careening into a tree on the side of the road.

The engine immediately caught fire. “ _Good_ ,” he thought. “ _It worked_.” Last night he had slipped into the target’s garage and tampered with the car. Disabling the airbags and placing packets of extra accelerant in the engine block. He’d also tampered with the seatbelts to lessen their restraint ability.

First objective, secure the case. He parked the motorcycle and made his way to the rear of the car. Using his metal arm he tore open the trunk. His eyes scanned over the two packed suitcases until he saw a slim metal case tucked towards the back, he popped the claps, inside on a bed of ice where six IV drip bags. He snapped the case closed and secured it in one of the side bags of his motorcycle. 

Second objective, eliminate the two targets. As he turned back to the car, he noticed the male target had exited the vehicle and was attempting to crawl to the other side, calling out for help. 

The Winter Soldier grabbed him by his neck and slammed him back into the car. The man coughed and struggled to take a breath. The Winter Soldier drew his silver arm back. If he hit him with the right force he could mimic the fractures that would normally be sustained from a face hitting the steering wheel without an airbag. 

The Winter Soldier silently calculated the proper angle. Just as he was about to swing, the man said something that made him hesitate. It was little more than a whisper, but it gave him pause. What did he say?

The man made to speak again. His voice ragged as he coughed blood.

“Bucky, what did they do to you?”

Something bubbled up in the Winter Soldier’s mind, just as it was about to breach the surface he violently shoved it back down. No. Finish your mission. And without another thought his silver fist connected with the target’s face.

Third objective, burn the car. After confirming death of the second target, the Winter Soldier walked back around to the driver's side. He intended to place additional accelerant packets in the car to increase the heat of the fire and speed up the burn time.

He gazed with a detached sort of interest at the face of the male target, he had lifted him back into the car and laid his head against the steering wheel, the target’s now vacant eyes stared back at the Winter Soldier. 

The words he had said rang out in his head again. _Bucky, what did they do to you?_ His voice...he was sure he had heard it before. The sound of it stirring something deep in the recess of his mind.

“Bucky,” the Winter Soldier worked his mouth to mimic the name the man had said. It felt strange on his tongue. Almost familiar, but in a way he couldn’t place. He knew he’d never heard that name before, let alone spoken it.

Suddenly, he was overcome with a blinding headache. It was as if his head was splitting in two. The pain forced him to his knees as he cried out in agony. A vision swam before his eyes. A man, grease-stained with goggles pushed up on his forehead, smirking at him from across a workbench, the smell of tobacco and coffee swirling around them. But as fast as it appeared, it dissolved, leaving an aching emptiness that cut the Winter Soldier to his very core. It felt as if his heart had been cleaved in half with the jagged edge of a knife.

He slumped over, looking back to the car, the flames slowly licked further up the engine block. He stared at the battered face of the male target. Anguish flooded his body, seemingly out of nowhere, and swept him up in an uncontrollable tempest of heartrending grief. 

Hot, heavy tears suddenly welled in his eyes as the Winter Soldier felt himself begin to uncontrollably weep. His surroundings blurred as his tears continued to fall. It was strange, up to this point he couldn’t recall having ever cried, even when in pain. And yet, the pain he felt now was greater than any physical injury he had ever sustained. 

He quickly felt he was spiraling out of control. What was happening? Why did he feel this way? His confusion pushed him to the edge of hysteria, which threatened to engulf him.

He continued to watch the flames slowly to consume the vehicle, as the pit of agony in his stomach slowly moved to consume him. This was wrong. Something was wrong. But what? The Winter Soldier struggled to pinpoint the source of the feelings that now violently swirled in his mind. Grief, rage, heartbreak, he felt each emotion course through him on a visceral level but was unmoored from their source.

For the first time in his decades of efficiently running missions, the Winter Soldier felt afraid, vulnerable. Paralyzed by a grief he didn’t understand, he remained there, helpless.

##

The Winter Soldier started awake. He blinked as he struggled to take in his surroundings. He desperately ran through his mission index trying to place where he was and what he was doing.

The last thing he remembered was...eliminating the targets. Completion of objective two. Then...all he remembered was a splitting pain and then...nothing, but the distant smell of coffee and grease. He slowly looked around again. The car was all but gone, only the charred frame remained. Objective three, ensure the car was completely burned.

The Winter Soldier staggered to his feet and stumbled over to his motorcycle. He felt groggy and clumsy, his body disobeying the simplest commands. He fumbled with the side bag and reached in to withdraw the case, checking to ensure the serum was still securely inside.

He had completed all of the mission objectives. He just needed to make it back to the extraction point. He knew he needed to move, based on the light starting to bleed over the horizon he was long overdue for his check-in. There would be consequences. Nothing he couldn’t handle, but he still shivered inadvertently at the thought.

However, instead of mounting his motorcycle and making for the extraction point, he stood gazing at the charred remains of the car. Something had happened before he blacked out. The Winter Soldier pressed his memory for more, but everything after securing the case seemed shrouded in some kind of unnavigable haze. His mind would take him no further.

It was like plunging his hands into the cold black waters of the sea. There was nothing there but dark unyielding water that slipped deceptively through his fingers, leaving him with nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise things get brighter from here.


	11. Chapter 11

**Fall 2016**

_Tony_

Tony sighed as he turned the quite honestly _ancient_ phone over in his hands. He knew what Steve was doing when he sent it, extending a kind of olive branch. Tony couldn’t decide if it was borderline adorable or just stupidly naive that Steve honestly thought Tony couldn’t use this to track them in less than two minutes flat.

“ _Maybe that’s what he wanted?_ ” a voice in his head says, but he pushed it away before he could dwell too much on it. 

If Steve really expected Tony to make the first move in patching things up, then he didn’t know him at all. No, this wasn’t about getting in touch with Steve. 

He popped the back of the cellphone off, examining its internal wiring. Using tweezers he slowly extracted the comms chip. It had undoubtedly been altered, likely making tracking slightly more difficult than he had originally thought. 

A ghost of a smile played on his lips as he brought the chip into the light to examine further. There, printed on the back of the chip, was an unmistakable red hourglass shape. “ _Nat._ ”

Tony doubted that Steve knew Nat had doctored the phone. But while Steve’s technological ineptitude bordered on dangerous, Nat’s strategic and calculating mind was more than enough to make up for it. Which was perfect, since she was the one he actually wanted to speak with anyway.

He took the chip and placed it into the receiver he had attached to his monitor. He had no doubt that Nat had programmed a cloaking code onto the chip, it would likely take slightly longer than two minutes to track them, _slightly_.

But to his surprise, instead of hitting a firewall, as soon as the chip was accepted a rudimentary chatbox opened, Widow’s signature seal at the top corner.

Tony considered this for a moment. He could still override the chat and likely unravel the cloaking program Nat had written to track their location. But maybe...maybe he should at least try to play ball first. Especially considering he was coming to her with a request.

He leaned back and thought about it moment longer before sighing and sitting up to type:

MEET ME AT AVENGERS TOWER IN TWO DAYS

Then hesitantly he added:

PLEASE

Tony waited, unsure if Nat would be making any type of affirmative response. For half a moment he considered that she may not respond at all. But his gut told him otherwise, she had written the chat program after all, meaning she at least half expected Tony to find it and use it. Just as he was about to give up and tell FRIDAY to monitor for a response the chatbox made a light dinging sound. He looked up.

THREE DAYS

##

Tony paced around the penthouse common room, gazing at the New York skyline below. It was strange standing in the barren room. Happy had done a good job overseeing the move. Well, except for the whole Vulture heist, but he had to hand it to the kid, he’d done a pretty good job reigning that one in on his own.

Tony looked to his side and had to clamp down the urge to jump a mile in the air when his eyes fell on Nat, who at some point had silently joined him by the window. Years of her sneaking up on him, and he still wasn’t used to it, although it did stir a sense of nostalgia in the pit of his stomach.

“Agent Romanoff,” he turned to face her, momentarily at a loss for words. The tension of their last conversation still sitting heavy between them.

“It’s good to see you,” he finally finished. 

The authenticity of his words surprised him. Usually, he was loath to let anyone know what he was really thinking. But it was true. He missed the team, all of them, but especially Nat. And their parting words, even Tony could admit, it wasn’t his finest hour.

The smallest shadow of a smile flickered across Natasha’s face before she schooled it back into composure.

“Took you longer than I expected to find the communicator chip, or maybe you just didn’t have reason to use it until now,” she said evenly. 

“I…” Tony felt pinned by her stern gaze. A million responses flicked through his head; sarcasm, misdirection, charm. But in the end, he settled on the truth.

“I need your help, a favor, it has to do with my Dad…” Tony hazarded a look Nat. “And Bucky,” he finished after a moment.

Her face remained smooth and emotionless, but over the years Tony had picked up on her seemingly imperceptible tells. The slightest twitch of her perfectly arched brow. This isn’t what she was expecting him to say, but she also wasn’t completely surprised.

Tony let the revelation wash over him. 

“Did you know?”

“I’m going to need to be a little more specific there Tony.”

“Did you know that...Bucky and my Dad were... _involved,_ ” it was the first time he had uttered the sentiment out loud. To his surprise, it sounded less strange to his ears than he anticipated.

Nat looked at him and took a deep breath, she seemed to be weighing her next words carefully.

“No,” she said slowly. “I didn’t know.”

The unspoken “but” hung between them in the air.

Growing impatient Tony rolled his eyes, waving his hand in the air. “But…” he prompted.

“But, when I complied the file for Steve two years ago, I found evidence of Howard’s relentless search for Bucky both directly following the war and well up to his death utilizing SHIELD resources. I didn’t have any confirmation, but it was a plausible leap to make based on his actions.”

“What makes you say that, he kept up the search for Steve that whole time as well.”

Nat regarded him silently for a moment. 

“That’s true,” she said matter-of-factly. “But there is a difference between funding an arctic recovery team, and personally taking riskier and riskier deep state intelligence meetings that skirted just at the edges of Hydra.

“I don’t know much about your father, but by all accounts, he was a deeply logical tactician both in engineering and diplomacy. This secret crusade he was on was anything but rational, my evaluation suggested a different motivation.”

Tony was silent for a moment, turning to look back over the cityscape illuminated beneath them, taking in what Nat had just so efficiently relayed.

Finally, she broke the silence.

“You want to ask, so just ask.”

Tony looked back at her. The question he’d been dying to ask since he sent the transmission. 

“Did Steve know?”

Nat inclines her head, considering the question.

“I don’t know,” she said simply. Before Tony could berate her further she held up her hand. “He’s never said anything about it to me, nor anyone else on the team, based on his actions, I really can’t tell.”

Tony nodded, he believed her, even if the answer was unsatisfying.

“Not to rush the reunion, but I’m due back in Cameroon by morning, what’s the favor Tony?”

“I need to see him Nat.”

“No.”

“Nat, come on, I need to talk to him.”

“Impossible.”

Tony let out a frustrated sigh. “What does Steve have him on lockdown or something? 24-hour surveillance? Come on Nat, this is about my Dad, not to play that card but I’d kind of say he owes me, you know?”

“This isn’t about Steve,” Nat said pointedly. “You can’t speak to him because he’s in cryo. At least he was last I heard.”

Whatever Tony had expected her to say, this wasn’t it. His mind came screeching to a halt.

“He’s in...what? He’s in cryo? Steve put him back on ice?”

Nat examined her nails before responding. “On the contrary, Steve begged him not to do it, apparently it was what Bucky wanted.”

Tony tried to wrap his mind around what Nat was telling him. Bucky chose to go back into cryo? 

“Why?” Tony finally said.

From nowhere Nat produced a slim file and made to set it on the table behind them.

“Maybe if you read that, it’ll give you a better picture. It’s the file I pulled together for Steve. Mainly consists of Hydra field reports.”

Just as she was about to set it down, she pulled the file back, eyes searing into him.

“I’m warning you Tony, the details here aren’t pretty. I selectively edited some of the information before passing it on to Steve, there were some things I thought he was better off not knowing, but it’s all here now.”

Tony glanced at the file and nodded.

“Once you’ve read it, all of it, and I reconfirm Bucky’s status, I’ll think about giving you his location.”

Tony wanted to argue, but he knew he didn’t have any leverage in this situation.

Nat looked at Tony, her gaze softening. “I’m glad you called Tony, I hope that this can help you find some peace.”

She squeezed his shoulder gently as she passed on her way to the door. A moment later she was gone, swallowed by the shadows of the darkened penthouse.

Tony sighed and walked over to the table where the file sat. He gingerly picked it up and flipped it open. He was met with a blown-up shot of Bucky’s face through a narrow window, even suspended in cryogenic sleep, his face was contorted in pain. Paperclipped to the bottom was a small black and white service photo, clearly taken just after enlisting. In the photo Bucky’s eyes danced with the same mischievous laughter as the photo Tony had found in his father’s box.

Tony tried to reconcile the two images, the man Bucky had been, and the living weapon Hydra had turned him into. Where did that leave him now?

Shaking his head he flipped the file closed again, he had better get started if he wanted Nat to give him that location.

_Bucky_

Bucky couldn’t explain it, but he loved watching Shuri work. There was something relaxing about watching her pour over her designs and tinker with her numerous creations. The vast array Bucky could hardly even begin to understand. The peacefulness that overcame him as he sat in her lab was almost...nostalgic.

He could feel something moving in the shadows of his mind, a cramped lab, far messier than this one where he perched on a stool not too different from the one he sat on now...

“Mr. Barnes, hey, hello, can you hear me?”

Bucky snapped out of his reverie at Shuri’s calling, forcing himself back into the present.

“Yes, sorry, uh, what was that?” 

“I said, I’ve just finished reviewing the data samples and tests that we ran. I can now confirm with a high degree of certainty that we have successfully deprogrammed the last of Hydra’s brainwashing.”

She smiled brightly as she slid into the seat across from him. Bucky looked at the table, tracing a small circle with his finger. It had been a long few weeks. They had woken him up from three months of cryo about a month and a half ago. 

Between the numerous scans, tests, sleep trials, and therapy sessions, they’d moved him out to the countryside. Shuri said he needed to start building a routine and a sense of independence. It was slow going, but Bucky was grateful for every morning we got to wake up of his own volition. 

“I don’t know how to thank you Shuri,” he said quietly.

“Bah,” Shuri waved her hand and reclined in her seat. “It is really me who should be thanking you, the tests that we have run and the data we have gathered is invaluable in furthering our understanding of the human mind. Countless others who have experienced brainwashing or similar situations will benefit from this work, all thanks to you.”

Bucky chuckled. “I didn’t do too much besides play human popsicle, you did all the hard work.”

“You’re right Mr. Barnes,” she smiled playfully. “I did do all the hard work!”

She reached across the table and swatted him playfully. Bucky smiled and leaned away. Shuri settled herself back in her seat a moment later, her face growing serious.

“And how are your memories coming, Mr. Barnes?”

“Well…” Bucky started, before trailing off again. Shuri waited patiently for him to gather his thoughts. 

“There isn’t much,” he exhaled a long breath. “Except…”

“Yes?” Shuri prompted.

“Bucky...I think I like to go by Bucky.”

Shuri smiled brightly. “Of course, Bucky. That’s great, a huge first step.”

Bucky looked down as his hand again, and smiled. He knew something as simple as his name shouldn’t feel like such a victory, but damn it, it did.

“Is there anything else, anything at all?” Shuri asked. Her tone held no judgment or pity.

Bucky took a deep breath, weighing in his mind if he was ready to share. To finally lay bare the little lights he had so painstakingly collected over the last who knows how many years.

“Um, there are a couple of things actually,” Bucky fidgeted in his seat. “Over the years, when I was still...the Winter Soldier...there were times when I would get these kind of, I don’t know, flashes? I don’t think they were enough to even be called memories, just like feelings, ya know? I’m not really sure how to explain them...” He looked up at Shuri, unsure how to go on.

She reached out taking his hand in hers and squeezed gently. 

“Anything at all is huge Bucky. We have been able to unwind the brainwashing Hydra did, and even restore most of the neuropassages in your brain, meaning the memories are theoretically there,” Shuri’s eyes were kind as she continued to speak.

“But, the mind is a complex organ. Sometimes our subconscious shields things from us, for our own protection. I believe you can get your memories back Bucky, it will just take time. You need to be patient with yourself. There is no timetable, no right or wrong way to remember. I’m here to help you in any way that I can.”

She softly withdrew her hand and reclined in her seat. 

“Now, tell me about these feelings, if you are ready.”

Bucky took a deep breath and nodded. Slowly he shut his eyes calling back his little lights. They were just as strong as they had been before. Like a well-worn sweater, the feeling enveloped him in a warm nostalgic calm. 87 seconds. 

Then softly, as if reciting a prayer he began:

“Dallas 1963, a grassy hill and blue sky, a button-up shirt with suspenders. Chicago 1969, the sound of piano music spilling out of a jazz club. Brussels 1971, the expensive spicy scent of men’s aftershave. Madrid 1973, a mechanic’s goggles. Frankfurt 1977, a woman in an elegant red dress walking alone. Paris 1980, condensation from a beer bottle slowly rolling down on to my real hand. Cairo 1981, a disdain for canned sardines. Bogota 1985, the smell of fresh-brewed coffee. Stockholm 1986, falling out of a too-small bed. Belfast 1987, an old Action Comics in a pawn shop. Timișoara 1989, a water pitcher and basin.”

It wasn’t until he was finished that he realized his eyes were wet with tears. He blinked rapidly and brushed them away, looking at Shuri. She sat speechless.

“I told you,” he said slowly. “It’s not much…”

Shuri shook her head. “No, no, Bucky this is huge! This is more than a lot, this is great!”

Bucky gave a tentative smile, it didn’t feel like a lot, but at the very least he was glad she seemed excited about it.

Shuri was already up from her seat, pacing. She pulled up a holoscreen and started transcribing notes.

“These feelings Bucky, think of them as...lighthouses, yes,” she continued to tap away furiously as she spoke. “They are directing us, you, where to go, we just need to follow them to shore.”

“How are we going to do that?” he asked.

“I think we should try recreating these feelings more fully, see where that takes us.”

Shuri looked over the list that she had compiled. “Is there one in particular you would like to start with?”

Bucky considered this for a moment. “Maybe...with the piano?”

“A great idea!” She turned to him excitedly. “Did you play, or did you just like to listen? Maybe you liked to dance?”

“I…” Bucky lapsed into silence. He’d honestly never thought more about it. Before, whenever he tried to push his memory it usually ended with him getting sick or passing out, or the feeling just dissolving into nothingness. He had just accepted that these little glimpses were all that he would ever have, but now…

“I think...I think I used to play?” It came out as a question, but as the words left his lips and hung in the air they felt _right_. “I used to play jazz,” he said more confidently.

“Ah, Bucky this is wonderful!” Shuri was practically jumping up and down in her excitement. “This is great, okay, I think the best thing to do it to get you in front of a piano and we can just see where that gets you.”

Bucky nodded slowly.

“I can make a simple prosthetic to fit your shoulder, that way you can play more…”

“No!” Bucky interrupted.

Shuri twisted around to look at him, eyebrows raised. “No? Wouldn’t playing one-handed be difficult?”

Bucky flexed his real hand. “Probably,” he said a little ruefully. “But I think it's better this way, I just, I don’t want a prosthetic, not yet.”

Shuri clicked her tongue. “Whatever the White Wolf wants, he shall receive.”

Bucky rolled his eyes at the nickname. Apparently the kids around his hut had taken to calling him that when they saw him doing his farm work. He was grateful for the lodgings outside the city. The fresh air manual labor felt good. And he was really starting to get the hang of milking a goat with one hand.

“I’ll have the piano delivered to your home this evening. Just take it slow, see how it feels. Don’t get frustrated if it doesn’t stir anything right away.”

Bucky nodded as he slowly stood up from the sleek worktable.

“Thanks again Shuri, I’ll see you at our next check-in. And, thank you for letting me watch you work for a bit,” he said sheepishly. “It feels…” he struggled for the right word. “Familiar,” he finally finished.

Shuri flashed a bright smile. “Always a pleasure to have you Bucky.”

##

Good to her word, Shuri had a pristine upright piano delivered to his hut that evening. Once it was situated Bucky spent the evening staring at it from across the room. 

He felt a certain amount of trepidation but had finally worked up the nerve to sit down. He gently ran his right hand over the keys, not with enough force to make any sound, just to feel the glossy texture beneath his fingers.

Gingerly, he experimentally pressed a key. The sound reverberated through the room before slowly settling into silence again. He slowly played a scale. A soft voice rang out in the back of his mind. 

“ _Good Bucky, just like that, keep your back straight, very good. At this rate, you’ll be replacing me on Sundays.”_

Bucky smiled. His mother. He continued to plunk out a few clumsy scales as the memory swelled in his mind. The old upright piano in their living room. It was thirdhand, and a few of the keys didn’t work. Took his dad and three of his work buddies almost the whole afternoon to get it up to their apartment.

His mother would always practice the hymns for the coming Sunday throughout the week, Bucky often sitting beside her on the bench.

Without realizing what his hand was doing, he slowly started to play a soft melody. The sound whisked him off to another place. A dark smoke-filled club, with a small stage. He was sitting at the bar...no he was performing. 

Bucky’s hand idly continued the soft melody as he delved deeper into the memory. He’d play at clubs in the winter. Why only the winter? In the summer he was...hauling boxes at the wharf. The clubs he played at were always by the wharf. 

Bucky closed his eyes and tried to summon their interiors in his mind. Pimm’s Cup, Edgewater Club. He smiled. He remembered, he actually _remembered_. But his favorite was...Silver Slipper. It had the best piano. His mind caught on the name. The Silver Slipper, it was...secret. But why? Bucky pressed his mind for a reason but came up with nothing.

He opened his eyes and looked down, he realized he was still playing a soft tune. He couldn’t help but smile. It felt like the first true connection he had made one hundred percent on his own to his old life, his old habits. Piano. It was something the old Bucky enjoyed.

He pulled out the secure phone Shuri had given him a few weeks ago and dialed Steve. He wasn’t exactly sure where he was or what timezone he was in, but he had a feeling he would answer regardless.

Steve picked up almost instantly.

“Hey Buck, how’s it going, everything alright?”

Bucky wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to the concern that tinged every conversation he had with Steve. It’s like Steve was worried Bucky would break or something, like he was fragile. Bucky couldn’t decide if he thought he was fragile like glass, or like a bomb. Probably a little of both.

“Yeah, everything's fine, stand down Captain,” Bucky couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “What are you up to?”

Steve visibly relaxed. “Just writing up some reports from the last mission.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Bucky smirked. “But wasn’t one of the points of going rouge to get away from bureaucracy?”

Steve huffed a laugh. “I guess old habits die hard.”

“Mmm,” Bucky agreed. “So...I think I’ve remembered a few new things.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve sat up straighter, his excitement evident. “Like what?”

Bucky switched the camera view to show the piano, then switched it back to his face. 

“Shuri just delivered this after I told her I used to play. I’d play at the clubs by the wharf in the winter, right?”

Steve beamed. “Yeah! You were great. You really loved playing the clubs. You played at church some too, your mom taught you since you were a kid. By the time we were out of school you were pretty good.”

Bucky nodded, smiling. “Edgewater Club, Pimm’s Cup,” he ticked them off on his fingers. “And The Silver Slipper.”

A strange look crossed Steve’s face at the mention of the last club. “The Silver Slipper?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said slowly. “It was my favorite, I think I played there the most, I remember liking their piano a lot.” Now he was starting to doubt himself.

“Huh,” Steve was quiet for a moment. “I don’t really remember you mentioning that one to be honest. I only ever watched you at Edgewater and Pimm’s.”

Bucky was quiet for a moment. Something about this club wasn’t sitting right with him. “Is there a reason it would have been secret? Like a secret club?”

Steve considered the question. “Sure,” he said slowly. “You know things weren’t very tolerant back then, there were lots of reasons clubs might be secret depending on what kind of patrons they catered to.”

Bucky nodded slowly. “But you’ve never heard of The Silver Slipper?”

“Other than in the Wizard of Oz? I don’t think so.”

“The Wizard of Oz?” Bucky asked, puzzled.

“Yeah, well in the movie they were ruby, but we read that book a thousand times as kids, and in the book Dorothy’s magic slippers are silver.”

“Right,” Bucky said uncertainly, not sure how to digest the unexpected twist. “Uh, well I should actually be heading to bed here soon, I just wanted to call about the…” Bucky trailed off as he gestured to the piano.

“I’m glad you did Buck. Call anytime. Shuri said I shouldn’t overwhelm you with my memories of you, that you should just let yours come organically, but anytime you want to talk I’m here to listen.”

Bucky smiled. “I know Stevie, thanks. I’ll call again soon.”

“Night Buck.”

Bucky ended the call and stared at the piano again as he turned the memory of The Silver Slipper over in his mind. He knew the memory was real. He pressed his mind more to recall a hazy conversation on the topic.

“ _We’ll have to see if we can requisition you a piano while you’re over here. God knows the hacks they get for the USO Tour can’t play worth a damn_.”

Bucky’s breath hitched. That voice... He sat perfectly still for another five minutes desperately trying to remember more, but his own mind seemed to stubbornly shut him out.

Finally giving in, Bucky sighed and grabbed the notebook off his bedside table as he flung himself down on the small bed. He quickly jotted down a few notes:

_Old upright piano in the living room, hauling boxes at the wharf, Edgewater Club, Pimm’s Cup, Silver Slipper (???) (Wizard of Oz?), USO hacks (voice?)._

He returned the notebook to the table and rolled over on his side, hoping sleep would come quickly. He slowly drifted off as the soft strains of jazz piano drifted through his mind.

##

Bucky’s eyes flew open as he sat up in bed. It’d been a few weeks since he had first gotten the piano. More and more pieces were coming back to him, but the Silver Slipper and the voice he kept replaying in his head were still mysteries.

But what shook him from his sleep so suddenly was the memory of a photo. He immediately threw the blanket off and made his way to the small bookshelf where he stored his other journals. Most of them were pretty worn and falling apart.

He ran his fingers over the bindings until he found the one from just after the fall of SHIELD, when he had pulled Steve from the Potomac. He had stayed in DC for a few days, reading the terrain and planning his next move. While he was there he went to the Smithsonian to see Steve’s exhibit. He was stunned to walk in and see a giant placard with his own face staring back at him.

He had memorized the words, along with just about everything else in the exhibit. Desperate to have some kind of foothold to the new, or rather old, identity he found suddenly thrust upon him.

Most of the information was fairly superficial, but it was more than he had. At least he knew his full name and birthdate now, that was something.

On his way out of the museum, he had stopped by the gift shop. There was a heavy hardback book filled with photos and stories from the SSR and the Howling Commandos. Bucky didn’t think twice about walking off with it.

He poured over the book for days, committing all the information to memory and taking notes in his little notebook on anything that felt familiar. The book was too heavy to carry with him once he was on the move, but he had taken scissors and cut out some of the photos, sticking them in the notebook along with his notes. He didn’t recognize any of the faces yet, but he could tell from the captions that these were people he should know. Steve, Agent Peggy Carter, Colonel Chester Phillips.

There was one photo in particular that gave him pause. It showed Carter and Phillips in the foreground, deep in conversation, they were the only two mentioned in the caption. They were standing in front of some kind of workspace, spare parts, tools, and curling scraps of paper littered every surface. 

You could just make out one other person in the background, standing in the center of the chaos. Sleeves rolled to his elbows, goggles hastily pushed up on his grease-strained forehead. His head was turned to the left, as if he was about to call over his shoulder to someone, so only his profile was captured.

Bucky didn’t know why, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the figure for a long time. Some nights he would unfold the photo and stare at it. Silently begging for the grainy image to reveal its secrets to him, but it never did.

It was the memory of this photo that jolted him from his sleep. He hastily paged through the notebook until he found it, folded and tucked between the pages. A little worn from being handled too much.

He unfolded it and brought it over to his bedside table, switching on the light. As soon as light flooded the room and Bucky’s eyes fell on the profile of the man’s face he knew, he knew this was the voice he had heard in the back of his mind.

“ _We’ll have to see if we can requisition you a piano while you’re over here. God knows the hacks they get for the USO Tour can’t play worth a damn_.”

It felt like a big step, he desperately pushed his mind for more. There had to be more, this person, whoever he was, had clearly been important to him. But it was like his mind was a fortress. His other memories weren’t this hard. Usually, he would find something small, a little flicker, and the more he concentrated the brighter and stronger it would grow, illuminating things in its periphery, sending him down other paths.

But this was different. It was as if these memories were encircled by an unscalable brick wall, and no matter what direction he went, he couldn’t illuminate anything more. He let out a frustrated sigh. He knew he was missing something, something big. It made all his other recovered memories feel insignificant, like there was this whole side of himself that he still didn’t know or understand.

He gently propped the photo up on the lamp, so he could look at it as he curled under the covers again. He had a check-in with Shuri tomorrow. They were still working through the list of memories he’d given her. She seemed excited when they last spoke, said she had something to show him. He absently wondered what it could be as he drifted back to an uneasy sleep.

##

“So you know how you said walking through a grassy field with a hill and a tree in the distance was one of your first memories?”

Shuri hardly waited for Bucky to take a seat before she started speaking. Bucky nodded as he slid into his normal stool.

“Well based on the information you gave me and satellite imaging, I think I have a pretty good idea of where you were when you had this memory!” Her grin was almost blinding.

“Wow, okay…” Bucky said slowly.

“Yes! Now obviously the landscape of Wakanda is slightly different than that of Texas, but I think I’ve found a location that is similar enough it may stir something! I thought you might like to go there, see if it helps you remember anything.

“I think this memory may be one of your most important ones, since it is your first. Clearly you have strong emotions associated with this memory, as it is the one that ultimately pierced the veil of Hydra’s brainwashing, and likely allowed the other scraps of memories to flow through. Or at least, that’s my estimation.”

Bucky continued to nod, taking in her words. Sure, it made sense he reasoned. At the same time, he would go along with anything Shuri said, the woman was clearly a genius. 

“I’ve programmed the location into your secure phone, it’s a bit of a hike. If you get lost or need anything just signal.”

“Can I go now?” Bucky asked. Suddenly he was overcome with a sense of urgency that he hadn’t felt since falling from the helicarrier. He couldn’t explain it, but he felt like this might finally be the key he was looking for to the otherwise barricaded part of his memory.

“Of course! Go whenever you please. Weather looks pretty nice today, so you shouldn’t have to contend with any rain.”

Bucky turned to go. As he was leaving Shuri called after him.

“But Bucky, remember take is slow, you can’t force these things. It may take time.”

##

The directions programmed in his phone took him on a winding path up a short wooded mountain. When he finally broke through the treeline, he found himself in a kind of grassy meadow that overlooked the valley below. There was a single tree set off to the side near the edge. 

Shuri was right, it was similar to the image seared into his mind from Dallas. Slowly he made his way up the rest of the hill and to the cliffside where he took in the seemingly endless blue sky that stretched in front of him. 

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Calling to mind the field and Dallas, and then pushing beyond that to the memory that had struck him that day. A crystal blue sky. White puffy clouds dotting the sky. A breeze ruffling his hair and button-up shirt.

At first, there was nothing, just the flickering image in his mind that has been there since 1963, nothing else. Then suddenly, like a tsunami, the memory crashed over him and he was powerless to stop himself from being swept up in the surge. He fell to his knees as the echo expanded to a fully-fledged memory that played in his mind’s eye as if it was a movie reel. 

The man from the photograph was sitting under a large oak tree, calling his name. He watched from the outside as the ghost of his past-self walked over and joined the man, cracking open a beer and settling into a seemingly comfortable conversation. 

Watching it unfold Bucky almost felt like an interloper in his own mind. The moment these two men were sharing, no, that _he_ and this man were sharing, it was so...tender and intimate in the sheer boring domesticity of it.

Bucky continued to watch them as his mind fought a silent battle with itself. This memory, it was so strong, but at the same time, Bucky was certain that this hadn’t actually happened. This life, buoyant with the hope of a promise yet to be fulfilled, was just a dream. A silent fervent wish he had harbored deep within his heart. The only thing he could remember wanting, the one driving force that kept him lucid during seventeen godforsaken years of Hydra torture, was finding his way back to this man, and making this dream, this wish of the perfect life, a reality.

Bucky stayed on the hill long after the movie reel in his mind spun out and ended. He sat on his knees watching the sun slowly set over the Wakandan horizon. This man, the man in the photograph, was the love of his life. He was more sure of this fact that he was of any of his other recovered memories. The knowledge burned bright within his heart, mirroring the vibrant blaze the setting sun painting across the sky.

Any yet, this feeling was formless and wild. It burned through his body, but his mind offered no further connections. Who was this man? Try as he might, but couldn’t even conjure a name, let alone a clear picture of his face. The grainy photo his only reference point. It was as if his mind was purposely obscuring his identity.

As Bucky watched the last burning edge of the sun sink below the horizon he made a vow. 

“I will remember you, all of you, whatever it takes.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a rough one.  
> *TW - mentions of torture and body horror in Tony's POV

_ Bucky _

Bucky sat perfectly still in his room. He had propped the grainy photo up against the lamp and was focused on the image with laser-like intensity. If only he had kept the entire book or cut out other photos, one with a caption that identified that goggle-clad individual. Bucky cursed his former self for dumping the book. With hindsight, a little extra weight seemed like a small price at this point.

This man, he was the one thing that had made him want to fight the tide of Hydra’s brainwashing. And now he couldn’t even remember his name. The sheer frustration made Bucky want to scream. It was like his own mind was mocking him. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to conjure a better image of the man in the photo, but it was like stumbling fruitlessly in a darkened room. He reached out his hand beseechingly, only to be met with nothingness. Every now and then it was like he would brush against something familiar. The faintest memory would pull at the corners of his mind. A smell, a laugh, feeling of contentment. But the full image remained elusive. 

He slowly dropped his head into his hand and tried to steady his breathing. Shuri had told him not to get frustrated when he couldn't remember. But this memory felt different than all the others. Not only in magnitude, but also in the way his mind was behaving. He knew these memories existed, but it was as if his mind was denying him access for some reason.

“ _ Okay, okay, okay, Buck, think, problem-solve. What else can you do? _ ” He tried to ease his mind by devising a plan. Having some kind of regiment or series of action items always made him feel better. He tried not to think if that was because of Hydra, or if old Bucky had found the same kind of comfort in routine.

“ _ The book...I got it at the Smithsonian a few years ago. It’s likely still in print. Maybe Shuri could help me look up books about the SSR and Howling Commandos, how many could there really be? Right, okay. Or maybe she could just use her fancy computer to do some kind of scan on the picture and just identify the person! Yes! Okay… _ ”

Why hadn’t he thought of that earlier? While he was still adjusting to this century’s technology, and arguably Shuri’s tech was more advanced than most, image scanning was something that even Hydra had used. He was sure that Shuri would be able to at least set him down the right path.

He quickly stood and snatched the photo off the nightstand, pausing to look at it in his hand.

“ _ Just hold on a little longer, _ ” he said silently to the photo. “ _ I’m coming _ .”

##

“Shuri, I really need your help with something!” Bucky said as he burst into the lab and rushed over to where Shuri was working.

“Ey-yah! Bucky, don’t scare me like that!” She gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. “You never know what I could be doing, might blow us both up!” She said with a wicked grin.

Bucky stuttered. This exchange with Shuri, it felt so familiar. Like some kind of strange deja vu, except not quite. A different person, a different place, but the same conversation. 

But Bucky quickly shook off the feeling, he didn’t want to get distracted from the purpose of his visit.

“Shuri, if I gave you a photo, do you think you could scan it and identify the person? Even if the photo was really old?”

Shuri rolled her eyes looking exasperated. “Honestly Bucky, I’m almost offended you have to ask.” She held out her palm. “Let’s see the photo.”

Bucky gently pulled it out of his pocket and unfolded it. Taking one last look at the image before handing it over to Shuri.

“Uh, the one in the back, at the workbench? His head is turned to the side.”

Bucky nervously rocked forward on his feet while Shuri examined the photo. To his surprise, Shuri laughed and handed the photo back to Bucky.

“I could scan the photo, but there’s no need. I’d know that face anywhere. He’s one of the fathers of modern tech! I’ve studied his designs for ages.”

Bucky looked back at the photo again, confused. Fathers of modern tech? 

“He is? So who is he?” he asked.

“Howard Stark of course!”

“Howard...Stark?” Bucky said slowly. “As in Tony’s Stark’s father?”

“The very same, you know, an argument could be made that his designs were more innovative for his time…” 

Shuri continued speaking but Bucky wasn’t listening. It was like his very reality was fracturing around him and dissolving into a thousand jagged little pieces, each one ripping a hole through the world he thought he had come to know. 

His mind reeled. He was back in the bunker in Siberia watching the video feed, no, he was on his motorcycle laying in wait on a backroad in Virginia. Images flashed through his mind rapid-fire as he struggled to piece together the implication of Shuri’s words.

Howard Stark was Tony Stark’s father...He knew now that he had assassinated Tony’s father in 1991. So that meant if the man in the photo was Tony’s father…

Bucky felt the room rapidly spinning out of control as he continued to work towards the grisly conclusion that his mind had so ardently been shielding him from.

Howard Stark was the man in his dream under the tree. His only salvation during Hydra’s torture. The love of his life, and he had... _ he had killed him _ .

As soon as the words were conjured into existence in Bucky’s mind, everything else stopped. The rest of the world ceased to exist as the sheer horror and heartbreak coursed through him.

Bucky dropped to his knees in the middle of the lab. It seemed that the dam had finally broken. A single name and suddenly the floodgates had opened. And like the last puzzle piece, the little lights he had carried with him for so many years suddenly slotted into place.

He sobbed as a wave of heart-aching nostalgia ripped through his body. It was like he had found a piece of himself that he was unaware that he was missing, but now that it was there he didn’t know how he had survived without it.

Howard, how could have ever forgotten Howard? The very thought only made him sob harder. His black quip of hair, his grease-smudge face, the intoxicating smell of his aftershave mingled with sweat and coffee, his rough hands contrasted with his maddeningly smooth chest. The way he would ramble on about anything under the sun with a fiery passion. The warmth of his brown eyes. Every loving detail came back to Bucky in a rush.

The whiplash was unbearable. The pure joy of remembering Howard, their time together, their love. Only for it to be overshadowed by the soul-consuming guilt and horror he felt.

Bucky heaved and tried to draw a breath as he continued to drown in memories that only served to sharpen the pain of what he had done. He was vaguely aware that Shuri was trying to speak to him, trying to understand what was happening. But she might as well have been a million miles away.

Bucky was alone with his memories, now inescapably complete. 

It was as if everything was unfolding in an unstoppable reel in his head. Seeing Howard for the first time in the Italian encampment. Working together in the lab. Getting captured and then rescued. Howard awaiting his return. The gentle words they had exchanged. Being shipped back to London. Their first real night together, and the many that followed. Howard making his armor. Their plans for after the war. The Howlie missions. Falling from the train. Waking up at the Hydra base. Torture. So much torture. His nightly vigil, clinging to Howard. The machine. Then nothing but missions, all of them blurring together, except December 1991. 

“No,” he whimpered. He knew this memory too well already. And now, he couldn’t bear to witness it again. But, it was as if once the reel began to play, Bucky was incapable of stopping it.

His mind played out every detail of the assassination with brutal accuracy. It was too much. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and covered his ears, screaming to drown out the sound. But, it was no use. He was bound to watch the history that he had carried out.

“No!” he snarled, as he watched the ghost of his former-self drag Howard’s lifeless body back into the burning car. “No!” He wanted to reach into the memory and stop himself, change the outcome. Change anything, everything. But he was powerless, as powerless as he had been when Hydra strapped him into that machine.

His voice was raw as he continued to scream, viciously clawing at the ground beneath him where he had collapsed. Once Bucky began screaming, he thought that he may just never stop. This pain he felt, it was unbearable.

So consumed in his own personal hell, he didn’t notice Shuri advance on him and seamlessly insert the syringe into his neck. The next thing he knew everything slowly dissolved to black.

_ Shuri _

Shuri gently closed the door behind her and joined T’Challa at the observation window.

“I had to give him another sedative, the dosage could almost take down a rhino.”

The siblings observed Bucky laying in the hospital bed through the glass, even in a chemically induced sleep, his face was twisted in pain.

“Do you know what brought on the attack?” T’Challa asked.

Shuri was silent for a moment. The episode would forever be burned into her memory. Bucky’s screams...Shuri had never heard anything like it, he didn’t even sound human. The memory alone raised goosebumps on her flesh. The sheer animalistic agony, it was a level of grief she was unaware a person could even experience. 

“Bucky and Howard,” Shuri said sadly. 

T’Challa raised his eyebrows in confusion.

“I believe Bucky unlocked memories not only lost, but also repressed,” Shuri continued.

“Concerning Howard Stark? Tony’s father?”

“Yes,” Shuri said softly. “They loved each other.”

T’Challa let out a long breath as the weight of Shuri’s words sank in. The air between them took on a new layer of melancholy. 

“Did he say anything to you while you were in there? It looked like you were speaking.”

Again, Shuri was silent for a time.

“He asked me to erase his memories, all of them.”

T’Challa considered this. “Sergeant Barnes has experienced more horror and hardship than many of us could imagine several lifetimes over. Perhaps forgetting would be a blessing.”

“I disagree, brother,” Shuri said, shaking her head. “The memories of his former life, his time with Howard, his old hobbies, likes, dislikes, those things make him who he is. Hydra took those things from him when they made him a weapon.

“He needs to reclaim those memories for himself. The happiness and joy they brought him are still there, under the stain of Hydra. It will just take time to separate them.

“I do not envy Bucky,” Shuri said solemnly. “He has a long road ahead of him. Working through this pain will be a difficult journey. But to take it away and pretend it never existed, that isn’t healing, it’s a lie. And Bucky has been forced to live a lie long enough.”

T’Challa turned to face Shuri, a small smile on his face.

“When did my little sister become so wise, eh?”

Shuri knocked into his shoulder. “I’ve always been wise, brother, you should have noticed by now.”

They lapsed back into silence as they continued to watch Bucky’s uneasy sleep. Shuri yearned to do more for him, but she knew that the hard part was now mostly out of her hands. They could only offer support.

“No matter how long it takes Bucky, we’ll be here,” Shuri said quietly.

_ Tony _

Tony mindlessly drummed his fingers against the worktable in his lab as he tried to be patient. FRIDAY was still processing the files. Much of what Nat had given him had been handwritten reports, and Russian cursive was no joke. 

He had no idea how Steve had read it, unless…Nat had probably given him translated files. Tony couldn’t help but smirk at the pettiness. Giving Tony the originals was likely Nat’s way of letting him know he was still on her shit list. 

“ _ Touche Agent Romanoff, _ ” he said silently to himself.

A moment later there was a soft beeping noise from the control panel.

“Scan and translation complete, boss,” came FRIDAY’s smooth voice.

“Thanks, enlarge them and throw them all up on the screen, chronological order please.”

He waited at the files amassed in front of him. He quickly skimmed at the titles of each. There seemed to be two main types. Reeducation updates from someone only referred to as Agent 46, and mission reports from various years, mostly incomplete. There was also a cache of photos that FRIDAY had not displayed.

He was about to ask for the photos to be added to the corresponding dates when his eye caught on the date stamps of the reeducation updates.

“FRIDAY, something is off here. Please rescan the date stamps for all the files.”

The AI was silent for a moment, then, “Rescan completed, no errors detected.”

Tony wrinkled his brow. But this couldn’t be right. They spanned almost twenty years. Tony went back to the hard copies of the files and laid them out on the workbench, scanning the date for each. But FRIDAY was right, all the dates had been correctly translated.

“ _ Twenty years…”  _ Tony thought slowly. “ _ But how…” _

Before he could delve into the thought further he was distracted by the blinking photo icon at the bottom of the screen. “FRIDAY open and enlarge photos alongside corresponding reports.”

“Boss, I recommend caution with viewing these images.” 

Tony sighed, exasperated. “Noted. Just do it, please.”

A moment later photos appeared next to various reports. There were several at the beginning. As soon as Tony laid eyes on them he had to swallow down the immediate urge to vomit. FRIDAY was right, they were extremely disturbing.

The first few photos depicted Bucky’s wound and the process of attaching the metal arm. After Tony got over the initial revulsion and was able to swallow down the acid rising in his throat, he looked closer. 

Even in black and white it was a grisly scene. There was little more than a bloody stump protruding from Bucky’s left shoulder, the jagged edge of a splintered scapula. The skin around the wound was puckered and black, fetid and rotting from gangrene. Clearly, it had not been treated quickly enough, or if it had, whoever did hadn’t done it properly.

Tony flicked to the next image. This one showed the newly attached arm. They had cleaved away the dead flesh making the prosthetic go well beyond his shoulder and on to part of his chest. But the attachment was far from smooth. Angry, swollen skin blistered around the edge of the prosthetic. Clearly the body was rejecting the attachment. Even in the grainy photo, the flesh looked wet, weeping putrid fluids. 

The next image was an x-ray, showing how the arm had been attached. Tony couldn’t help but wince and draw a sharp breath. The pins used to graft the prosthetic to the bone had been haphazardly placed. Even if Bucky had a regeneration level close to Steve, it would have been extremely painful for the bone to heal around it correctly, with the pins constantly tearing into the muscle until the body adapted. 

Tony shivered inadvertently. He had to admit that he had never really put any thought into how Bucky had gotten his arm. Suddenly, Tony was back in Afghanistan, receiving his own questionable medical procedure behind enemy lines. It had been terrifying, waking up in the cave, disoriented and scared, finding that while he slept a part of him had been irreversibly altered. And while the procedure had saved his life it was also jarring, an inexplicable type of intimate violation.

Tony glanced down at the soft blue glow emanating his chest, then looked back down at the images. Bucky had never asked for this, he likely had no idea it was even happening. If the images were anything to go on, his very biology has tried to rebel against Hydra’s so-called improvement. He tried to imagine what it must have been like, waking up months later to the hellish realization that Hydra had made such a personal and permanent invasion on your body.

Tony grimaced as he flicked the first set of photos closed. Even with the images out of sight he still felt the hairs on the back of his neck raised in horrified disgust. 

He took a breath and tried to refocus on the files in front of him. They seemed to be random pages out of a larger log. It was clear that “reeducation” was a Hydra euphemism for torture. Tony was still puzzled by the date stamps. Why had the torture gone on for so long?

_ 19 October 1946 _

_ Subject continues to be resistant. Using information mined from US-based Hydra agents we deployed a new scheme of psychological torture today. Unsure what results will ensue. Utilizing reality distorting gas currently undergoing testing, we recreated the subject’s home and family. Agent 108 and Agent 117 impersonated subject’s parents. Attempted psychological manipulation to sow Hydra leaning loyalties. Test had to be suspended after subject entered catatonic state upon thinking he was seeing family again. Will need to rework levels of gas dosage. _

_ 3 January 1947 _

_ Subject displayed new levels of resistance today. Typically subject is subdued after two to three rounds of waterboarding. However, today subject was especially volatile. Had to deploy more physical countermeasures including removal of nails to subdue (fail-safe shortcut to compliance). _

_ 23 March 1948 _

_ Received new mirco-skin razor from operational director of Red Room today. Was curious about effect on subject due to regeneration abilities. Happy to report device is very effective when set to highest setting, perfect for skinning just down to the meat. Subject’s skin seems to take roughly 3-4 hours to heal over, allowing for hours of effective torture in one sitting. Putting in official request for 10 units to supervisory committee. Multiple possible uses. _

_ 18 Feb 1950 _

_ Subject continues to cry out in sleep. However, agents are still unable to ascertain name being called. Frustrating lack of development as information could be essential in further psychological torture. Reality alteration has been suspended for lack of intended effect. Planning on redoubling efforts re: interrupted sleep, withholding meals, and general disorientation in time and space. Physical torture seems to return better results at this time, will plan to refocus efforts here. _

_ 8 Sept 1951 _

_ Finally a positive breakthrough! Subject shows keen weakness to heights. Likely related to traumatic circumstances surrounding injury. Plan to incorporate heights and falls into regular schedule of torture. Will likely need to employ reality altering gas for maximum effectiveness. _

Tony felt the blood drain from his face as he continued to page through the reports, which only showed more of the same kind of sick satisfaction in recounting the effectiveness of different torture schemes used on Bucky  _ for years. _

All those years, through all the different types of torture, his body and mind constantly invaded with the sole purpose of crushing his sense of self, Bucky never gave in. Tony’s head was spinning. Disgust, horror, pity, guilt. It all swirled violently in his mind.

Tony finally flipped to the last reeducation report.

_ 9 August 1961 _

_ Due to lack of advancement recorded from seventeen sustained years of traditional physical and mental torture, the decision has been made to attempt permanent memory alteration utilizing Red Room electro-shock memory augmentation. Subject will have all memories of previous life wiped, to be replaced with manufactured Hydra literature and loyalties. The wipe will allow for ample space to program strategic and tactical information which should not only ensure an effective soldier, but total compliance. Activation words to be determined following procedure. _

Tony didn’t even realize he had his glove on until the repulsor beam shot from his hand, shattering the holographic display screen in front of him. The report slowly flickered to dark. Tony looked down at his hands, then without another thought, raised his hand up again and shot out all the other screens surrounding him, banishing the blown up translated reports from his view.

He knew it didn’t change anything. The reports were still there. The horror that Bucky had been subjected to was just as real now, as it had been when the reports were displayed around him. It was childish, and while it was something Tony was working on, destruction was still his preferred method of dealing with the emotions that were so overwhelmingly complex they threatened to consume him.

Tony heaved as he slowly sunk to the lab floor, now littered with broken glass. Pepper would have a fit. He tried to wrap his mind around what he had just read. The procedure, the torture, the memory wipe. It was too much. 

For the first time the realization that had been tickling at the edges of his mind since finding his father’s journals, since seeing Peggy’s correspondences, since reading his mother’s letter, finally came over him with full force: Bucky wasn’t the villain, Bucky was a victim. And if the reports were anything to go on, a heroic one at that, resisting the most advanced forms of torture for close to two decades.

Tony continued to sit slumped on the floor at the exhaustion of the last week rained down on him. Physically he was exhausted, but emotionally his mind burned with a single new focus. To find Bucky, to make right what he could, and what he couldn’t find a way to make it better.

##

Tony brought up Widow’s chat program. He was just debating how to best communicate to Nat he had read the file when his Stark phone lit up. The number was restricted, which gave him pause since he had the most advanced caller ID arguably in the world. After a moment of hesitation, he hit accept.

“So, have you finished?” came Nat’s sharp voice.

“What, do you have my workshop bugged?” Tony knew it was impossible, but he still glanced around.

Nat laughed. “No, I just have the gift of impeccable timing,” then her voice grew serious. “Come out to the tarmac in five.” She left no room for discussion, and it was clear she wasn’t asking.

Tony wanted to argue, but the line was already dead. With no other options, he sighed and hurried outside to the tarmac.

Moments later the quinjet was powering down. As the gate slowly lowered Nat was waiting, arms crossed, she said nothing as Tony stared back at her, only arching a brow.

Finally, she sighed and tossed her head, turning around to head back into the cockpit. But first, she paused. “Well, aren’t you coming?”

“Uh,” Tony said. “ _ Where _ , exactly?”

Nat was already walking back. “Wakanda of course, don’t you want to see Bucky?” she called over her shoulder.

The quinjet was already powering up again. Against his better judgment, Tony scrambled aboard just as the gate started to close.

“You can’t blame me for being a little surprised Nat, you made it seem like I was going to have to give you my firstborn to get the location out of you.”

Tony casually made is way to the cockpit, but stopped as soon as he saw Nat’s face. Her expression was pulled into a tight mask. To anyone else, it would seem like a neutral face, but Tony knew Nat only looked this way when she was stressed, concerned a mission was about to go sideways.

Before he could interrogate her, the other door to the cockpit banged open.

“Thanks for taking over flying for a bit Nat, I don’t think I’ve had a full hour of sleep since Bolivia.”

Tony felt like ice had been injected straight to his veins as the familiar voice washed over him. He slowly looked up, just as their newly joined companion clocked him standing in the back.

“Captain Rogers,” Tony said tightly.

“Tony?” Steve sounded utterly bewildered.

They stared at each other for a time, each incapable of saying anything further.

Nat simply kept her eyes glued to the night sky.

“Play nice boys, it’s four hours to Wakanda and it would be best for Bucky’s sake if you both were in one piece when we arrive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. This was a really hard chapter to write, for obvious reasons. The only way I could get through it was to start planning my next Howard/Bucky fic in which I can give our boys everything they deserve and all the things they didn't get in this fic.


	13. Chapter 13

_Tony_

“ _What the actual fuck,_ ” Tony silently seethed as he sat in the back of the quinjet. 

Steve sat on the opposite side, looking anywhere but Tony’s face.

He couldn’t believe Nat, how could she do this to him? He was even more pissed that in his hurry to meet Widow he hadn’t even thought to suit up. If he had, he definitely wouldn’t be sitting here any longer.

Time slowly ground on as the tension continued to build between the two of them.

Just as it seemed to reach its peak Tony groaned internally. “ _Oh, fuck it_.” One more second of heavy silence and he might just jump from the quinjet, suit or no.

“I know you really excel at solemn silences and staring off angrily to the middle distance with a clenched jaw,” Tony started. “But all that isn’t really my style.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees as Steve’s attention snapped to Tony’s face.

“Let’s make one thing clear buddy, what went down between us, it's far from water under the bridge, oh no, there isn’t even a bridge in sight,” Tony waved his hand in the air. “No, you’re on your own fuckin’ island pal.”

He paused trying to gather his thoughts. Part of him wanted to just tear into Steve, make him answer for everything that had transpired between him. But it was still too raw, and if he was being honest, his emotions were already severely frayed from the last week. He could hardly bring himself to conceptualize the deep level of hurt he was still feeling toward Steve beyond just seeing red.

Tony breathed out, recollecting himself. At the very least Steve seemed to sense it was his turn to just listen. The most minuscule of victories.

“Some things have come to light,” Tony paused, struggling with how exactly he wanted to proceed with the conversation. “Things concerning my father and Bucky.” 

He hazarded a look at Steve’s face. There was a certain level of shock there, and sadness, all quickly clouded by an expression of guilt. 

Tony swallowed and forged on. “And I think at the very least, you owe me some answers to my questions.”

“I’ll tell you whatever I can,” came Steve’s response, his voice contorted with a kind of tortured contrition.

Tony was thrown, he had expected at least a little pushback. Some holier-than-thou bullshit about “it not being his story to tell” or something. Or maybe just more stoic silence. This whole kicked-puppy routine was honestly unsettling.

“Right, well…” Tony attempted to find his footing again. “As I said, there are some things that have come to light. As I was cleaning out my father’s office, I found a locked box. I’ve been chasing down leads from it for the last week. Bottom line, Bucky and my father were...involved.” 

He let the words hang in the air between them, waiting for Steve to react. But all he did was bow his head and let out a long sigh.

“Well?" Tony prompted. The patience he was willing to show Steve was dangerously thin. “Start talking Rogers, did you know? You were there after all.”

“Tony…” Steve started. For the first time, he sounded closer to the 100-year-old man he truly was than the 20-something he appeared to be.

“Don’t ‘Tony’ me,” Tony snapped. “You owe me answers and I want them, now, or I’ll tell Nat to set us down in the next viable landing site even if in the middle of the goddamn ocean.”

Steve hung his head. He seemed to be collecting his thoughts so Tony didn’t prompt again. After a moment Steve straightened up, shifting his view to the ceiling instead.

“You have to understand Tony, it was a different time. A very different time. Guys like Bucky, it just wasn’t exactly something you talked about, you understand?”

“So Bucky was, uh is, gay then?”

Again Steve sighed. “Honestly, we never really discussed it. Bucky always had beautiful women hanging off him, even when we were in grade school. But I always got the feeling that it was for everyone else’s benefit, you know?

“Buck was always a warm and outgoing guy, but once you got to know him you learned that he was also fiercely private. Even as best friends...there were things we didn’t talk about. There were sides of him that he kept just to himself.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess what I’m saying is a part of me always kind of knew, but I didn’t want to pry. I figured if Buck ever wanted to talk about it he would, and besides its not like it changed anything for me. 

“But, you know, looking back, and with the benefit of society getting a helluva lot more tolerant while I was in the ice, I wish I would have actively voiced my support a little more. I guess I just always thought it went without saying.”

Tony knew gay men in the ’30s and ’40s didn’t have it easy. While his father’s money likely afforded him a certain level of discretion and privacy, it wouldn’t have been the same for someone of Bucky’s status. Being himself would have been downright dangerous a majority of the time.

What little Tony did know about the gay scene from that time was that it was extremely small and extremely tight-knit. It made sense that Steve sensed there was a whole side to Bucky he didn’t know. Even as his best friend, Bucky was likely wary of exposing others in the community to Steve.

“So Bucky and my father?” Tony asked slowly.

Steve slowly shook his head. “I...I would be lying if I told you I didn’t suspect something, but again, it wasn’t something I ever discussed with Buck, or Howard for that matter.”

It was strange, hearing Steve use his father’s first name so casually.

“When I finally caught up with Buck, he’d already been on the front for a while. From what I remember, him and Howard had been working on a project together before he got called up.”

Steve paused, it was clear he was wading through memories that he likely hadn’t dwelled on in a long time.

“The way Buck talked about Howard…” Steve scoffed and smiled slightly, which quickly turned to a sad grimace. “I’d never heard him go on about someone so much, certainly not a woman. He was really taken with Howard. It seemed like they just...clicked.”

“So what were they like, together, I mean?” Tony asked.

“Well…” Steve grew quiet again. “I never actually saw them together all that much. At the time I was focused on...other things. From what I can remember, when we got back to London Buck was always hanging around Howard's lab, at all hours. If you ever needed to find him, chances are that he was there, sat on a little stool opposite your Dad’s workbench, smoking a cigarette and just watching Howard work.”

Steve seemed to smile at the memory before his face grew serious again. “I’ll never forget the single-minded determination Howard had when we were devising our plan to liberate the Italian factory. He was so concerned about Bucky’s safety. His drive largely mirrored my own, so at the time I didn’t really find it out of the ordinary. But I suppose looking back, it was much more than the average level of concern you typically had for a fellow soldier. Back then, when it came to these things…” Steve's cheeks pinked slightly. “I wasn’t really the sharpest.”

Tony couldn’t help but scoff. “Still aren’t, Cap.”

Steve dipped his head, nodding slightly. It seemed part of Steve’s kicked-puppy routine was solemnly accepting all of Tony’s jabs. Tony couldn’t decide if that made him more or less angry with him. Either way, he rolled his eyes.

When Steve spoke again, his voice was thick with emotion. “The last time I spoke with Howard, it was actually about Bucky,” Steve swallowed and fell silent.

“And?” Tony said expectantly.

“He was right,” Steve said, shaking his head.

It was then Tony realized Steve was crying, actually crying.

“Steve? Steve, focus here,” Tony said, leaning forward to make better eye contact. “Right about what?”

Steve took a ragged breath and cleared his throat. “After we lost Buck...it was hard on everyone. But Howard, Howard really lost it. I’d see him occasionally walking from his room to the lab, and it was like seeing a ghost. I don’t think he slept the whole two weeks between getting the news and our assault on Schmidt.

“I guess, it kind of further confirmed the suspicions I had about the two of them. And I felt all the more guilty for it. The last conversation I had with Howard I told him I was sorry, sorry I couldn’t save Buck, bring him home.”

Steve clenched and unclenched his hands. He seemed to be steeling himself for the next bit.

“Howard...Howard wasn’t having any of it. He demanded to know why we didn’t attempt a rescue. At the time, I thought I had made the right call. But ever since DC, since seeing Buck again, what Hydra did to him,” Steve’s voice broke off.

He took a few steadying breaths before continuing again. “Ever since I realized Bucky was still alive, all I can hear, every night, is Howard’s voice, dripping with disdain, telling me Bucky would have gone back for me.”

Steve shook his head, his voice ragged. “And it's true, he would have, I know he would have. And god...if only we had gone back, if only we had been the ones that found him…” Steve slowly trailed off.

A new kind of heaviness settled between them.

Tony could tell Steve was hurting, but he also didn’t really feel it was his job anymore to be the one to offer comfort. After a few more moments of heavy silence Tony eased himself up.

“Uh, I’m going to go check on Nat, see if she needs to be relieved.”

Steve nodded silently, clearly still lost in thought, going back over the memories he had just recounted.

##

Tony made his way to the cockpit. He stood silently in the back, struggling with what exactly he wanted to say to Nat, beyond “ _how could you_ ”.

But, as usual, Nat is one step ahead.

“Spit it out already Tony,” she says without ever taking her eyes off the sky. “I can hear the gears turning in your head from here.”

Tony sighed and dramatically threw himself down into the seat next to her.

“What is this Agent Romanoff, an attempt to get Steve and me to kiss and make-up? Gotta say, not the most strategic on your part.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and glanced at Tony. “I resent the idea that you think this is strategic plotting on my end, if it was, it would be far better executed.”

She fell silent and refocused on the night sky ahead of her. Tony saw her grip tighten in the wheel. It was then he realized something bigger was amiss. Technically the quinjet could handle this portion of the flight on autopilot. Nat only took over manual control when she was feeling stressed, some kind of impending uncontrollable variable. Flying the jet manually made her calmer, being in control of at least one thing.

Just as Tony was about to ask, Nat breathed out sharply.

“We got a call last night from Shuri, or at least Steve did.” Nat worried with her bottom lip, another tell.

“Bucky...is not doing well. He’s been undergoing a lot of intensive rehabilitation with Shuri, since getting out of cryo. She recently cleared him of Hydra’s brainwashing and his memories before Hydra have slowly been returning in bits and pieces.” 

Again she glanced back at Tony, holding his gaze for a beat.

“It seems that Bucky finally remembered your father, and of course, he also now knows that he assassinated Howard in 1991.”

Nat fell silent, letting Tony absorb the weight of her words.

“ _Shit_ ,” thought Tony.

This whole time, he’d been so wrapped up in unraveling the mystery of his father and Bucky’s relationship, and how that knowledge shifted _his_ perception of the two men. But the full weight of the horror Bucky must now be feeling was slowly sinking in. Tony thought he might be sick, such tragedy, it felt immeasurable.

“What happened?”

Nat shook her head slightly. “We don’t exactly know, Shuri’s message was brief. Apparently it was triggered by an old photo of Howard. Bucky had to be sedated. Shuri felt it was essential that he was surrounded by his friends when he wakes up. He needs support right now.”

“So...Steve?” Tony gestured vaguely to the back of the quinjet.

“Yes,” Nat responded. “And you.”

“Me?” Tony asked. “Considering I kind of attacked the guy last time I saw him, I didn’t really think I would fall into the ‘friend’ category.”

“And do you feel the same way about him now as you did in the bunker?” Nat asked expectantly.

“No of course not!” he said quickly. “Everything I’ve learned, all the things I’ve uncovered…”

“Exactly,” Nat cut him off. “Of all the people that can help Bucky through this, you are the most critical.”

“Mhm, and how exactly does the old man back there feel about my tag-a-long?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t ask him.” Nat flipped her hair over her shoulder and refocused on the night sky. “And I’m flying the jet which means I control the passenger manifest.”

She glanced back at Tony as he raised his eyebrows, unconvinced.

“Look,” she said sharply. “This...falling out you and Steve have had, it's between the two of you and the two of you only. I’m not asking you to forgive him, I’m not even asking for you to be civil, so long as you don’t do anything to cause me to crash before Wakanda. But, I am asking you both to put Bucky ahead of each of your egos for a short time.”

She refocused on him, her gaze piercing. “Do you think you can do that?”

Tony groaned internally, he knew she was right, even if he resented the charge that this had anything to do with his ego. But, if Bucky was working through the weight of such heartbreak, he did want to be there for him, he just wished Steve could have flown there separately.

“Yes,” he finally grounded out, as it was clear Nat was waiting for a response. “But I’m staying here for the rest of the flight.”

Nat rolled her eyes. “I’ll see if I can find some tape and mark a line down the center of the plane so you each have your own side,” she said sarcastically.

_Bucky_

Bucky stared blankly up at the white hospital ceiling. His whole body ached. His eyes were sore and bruised from crying and the rawness of his throat made it feel like he had swallowed a razor blade.

For all the psychological torture he had experienced with Hydra, of which he now almost fully remembered, this was worse. Because it was real.

“ _B_ _ucky, what did they do to you?_ ” Howard’s last heartbroken words played over and over again in his head like some kind of endless soundtrack to his own suffering.

Steve had been in earlier that day to see him. Apparently Shuri had called him. 

He hated this feeling. Everyone worrying over him. Treating him with kid gloves. Like the slightest thing would set him off. He knew they were all just trying to help. But what could they even do? There was no changing the past.

Steve had echoed what he had said on their way to Siberia. “ _What you did...It wasn’t you. You didn’t have a choice_.”

Bucky’s response was unchanged from when Steve had first tried to comfort him.

“ _I know. But I did it_.”

And that was the inescapable truth of it wasn’t it? No matter what Steve, or Shuri, or T’Challa said. No matter the brainwashing, or the circumstances surrounding his orders. The simple fact remained, _he had done it_.

And the weight of that revelation was threatening to crush his very existence. Shuri had refused to erase his memories of Howard and his life pre-Hydra. While Bucky desperately wanted to forget, he wasn’t surprised Shuri had refused.

So that left him here. Staring up at the ceiling. Trying desperately to both forget the horror of the assassination and remember every little detail of Howard. An effort that seemed only to sharpen his anguish.

His mind pulled him back to one of the nights they had spent together in London. 

He reclined easily in bed, while Howard was draped sleepily across his chest. Their legs twisted together in a tangle of thoroughly mussed sheets.

“When we get back to New York we should go dancing,” Howard had said lazily.

Bucky chuckled. “What?” He was used to Howard’s frequent non-sequiturs by now but the statement still seemed to come from nowhere.

“Come on, it’d be grand! And upon closer inspection of these hips of yours, I can tell you know your way around a dancefloor.” Howard's fingers tightened around Bucky’s waist, tickling him slightly.

Bucky almost bucked Howard off the bed.

“You promised no tickling!” Bucky hissed.

Howard rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t _tickling_ , I was simply _touching_ ,” but his smirk gave him away. 

Once he was sure the threat of Howard’s tickling hands was at bay Bucky relaxed again.

“I do like dancing,” Bucky smiled faintly thinking back to the dancehalls of Brooklyn. “But,” his smile faltered slightly. “There aren’t a whole lotta places that take kindly to two men dancing, ya know?”

Howard waved his hand and snuggled deeper into Bucky’s embrace. “I’ll just buy the dancehall and we’ll only let in people that won’t mind.”

Bucky snorted. He found Howard’s blasé approach to his immense wealth endearing. It could easily come across or pretentious or showy, but Bucky knew Howard never really intended it that way, at least not when they were talking like this.

Just then a thought struck Bucky. “Who says we have to wait for New York?”

“What?” Now it was Howard’s turn to sound confused.

“Come on!” He pulled Howard up from the bed and spun him into his arms. “We can dance right here!”

“There’s no music,” Howard said dumbly as Bucky started to sway.

“Well use that big brain of yours to imagine some,” Bucky whispered in his ear as he continued to sway, moving to dip Howard slightly.

Howard laughed and started to mirror Bucky’s moves. They clumsily moved around the small room, each taking turns leading, sometimes with clashing results. They laughed as they stumbled and twirled in nothing but their boxers.

Slowly the memory flickered back to black and Bucky was pulled back to the present as he heard the sound of the door to his room open.

He rolled over on his side towards the wall without a sideways glance.

“Not now Steve,” he said tiredly, his voice scratchy and raw. “I’m not in the mood.” 

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the tears that welled up at the memory of him dancing Howard around his small London quarters.

There was a cough and then, “Uh, guess again.” In a voice that was decidedly not Steve’s.

Bucky was up from his bed like a shot, he quickly flipped the hospital bed up on his side and dove behind it for cover, snatching the knife from his dinner plate on his bedside table.

“Whoa, whoa, easy there bionic man. You really think Steve, Shuri, and T’Challa would let me in here if I was any type of threat? I come in peace.”

Bucky slowly lowered the knife and took in the man standing in front of him. Tony looked back at him earnestly, his brown eyes laced with concern. 

Those eyes, deep, warm, and expressive. So much like his father. And just like that, it was like Bucky was thrown back into the past.

The knife clattered to the ground as Bucky crumpled in on himself. 

“Tony...I...I…” Bucky struggled with what to say.

What could be said? 'Sorry I killed your parents' felt woefully inadequate. 'I love your father' also didn't seem totally appropriate.

Just as Bucky felt himself descending into another bout of hysteria he felt Tony’s gentle hand on his shoulder. His eyes snapped up to Tony’s face.

“I know,” Tony said. “I know. And it's going to be okay.”

He slowly lowered himself to the floor alongside Bucky. The two men looked at each other, an ocean of unspoken words washing between them in a single moment.

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” Tony said solemnly. 

Bucky almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of his statement. What could Tony possibly have to be sorry for? But at the same time, at the sound of those three words the crushing weight Bucky was suffocating under lifted ever so slightly.

“Me too, Tony.” He slowly let his head drop to Tony’s shoulder. There was more he wanted to say, that he needed to say, but at that moment he felt he just didn't have the strength.

He felt Tony’s grasp on his shoulder tighten slightly as he let out a long slow sigh. 

“We’ll get through this Bucky, together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, the moment many of you have been waiting for. How do you think Bucky and Tony's meeting will go? The end of this chapter is just a teaser, I promise next chapter we'll be rolling in the deep.


	14. Chapter 14

_Bucky_

Bucky smiled slightly as Pricilla nuzzled against his palm. Shuri had finally cleared him to be released and he was back home, tending to the goats he didn’t realize he had missed so much.

It had been a strange week. After several long, serious conversations with Steve in which Bucky had continuously reassured him he was okay, Steve and Natasha had left to meet back up with the other Rouge Avengers. But Tony had stayed behind.

Since their initial tear-soaked meeting they hadn’t spoken much. Mostly Tony would just silently keep Bucky company in his hospital room, reading over different design schematics, or making notes on reports that Shuri kept bringing in. It was a strange sort of stilted silence. Equal parts comforting and awkward.

Bucky still didn’t really understand why he was still here, or why he had even come. Steve had been decidedly tight-lipped when he asked and Tony didn’t seem overly eager to let Bucky in on the secret. And he couldn’t find a way to ask without sounding like a total ungrateful dick, because the truth was he was deeply grateful for his company.

But as Tony continued to act as his adopted shadow, the looming eventuality that he would have to come clean to Tony about him and his father only continued to grow. 

Bucky sighed as he ran over it again in his mind. There just wasn’t a way that he felt like he could phrase it that sounded...what? Respectful? Genuine? 

Bucky winced internally and bit his lip. The last two days he’d been vacillating between just ripping the band-aid off and telling Tony everything _or_ taking his love of Howard to his grave. He just had no idea how Tony would react. And who the fuck was he to shatter the image of his father that Tony had undoubtedly built over his life? Hadn’t Bucky robbed him of enough?

But, on the other hand, there was an ache Bucky felt deep in his core to connect with Tony, talk with him. He was so desperate to know how Howard had spent his life. What had he done after the war? All the dreams they talked about at the front, did Howard go on to achieve them? So many questions he wanted answered, even if he felt he didn’t deserve to ask.

He looked back down at Pricilla, gently patting her head.

“What do you think girl?” he whispered. “What should I do?”

Pricilla stared back at him wide-eyed for a moment, before ducking her head back down and pulling a clump of grass up to chew on.

Bucky sighed. “Yeah, I know, you’re right.”

Bucky silently steeled himself as he walked back into his hut. He pulled out his communicator before he lost his nerve and dialed Tony.

He waited nervously for the line to connect. As soon as Tony answered Bucky blurted out: “Do you want to come to my place for a drink?” before he could lose his nerve and hang up.

The other side of the line was silent for a beat. Bucky suddenly panicked that he had made a grave, grave mistake. Then Tony’s cocky voice piped through the communicator.

“Who am I to turn down an invitation from the White Wolf?” There was a trace of a teasing smile in his voice. “Be there in thirty.”

The line went dead before Bucky could even respond. 

Bucky blew out a breath. “Right, okay, no turning back now.”

##

Bucky was surprised that he hadn’t paced a trench through his floor by the time Tony finally turned up, decidedly more than thirty minutes after their phone call.

“How’s it goin’ there, one-armed-wonder?” Tony asked as he patted Bucky on the shoulder and moved around him into Bucky’s hut as if he owned the place.

Bucky couldn’t stop the twitch of a smile that made his way to his lips as he slowly closed the door and thought that was exactly how Howard would have greeted him in a situation like this. 

Bucky turned to see Tony slowly surveying his small one-room living quarters. He drifted here and there, picking things up and examining them, then setting them down to look at something else. Had it been anyone else, Bucky probably would have been dangerously close to cutting off their fingers, but, again, his movement, his cadence, it was so like Howard, Bucky only felt a small twinge of nostalgia, mingled with the ever present sadness that pervaded his every thought of Howard.

Bucky doled out their drinks, a truly exceptional scotch that Sam had sent him after the team had been in Scotland for a mission, and then took a seat on the piano bench. Tony continued to pace around the room. 

Common sense was blaring in the back of his mind that this is when typical _normal_ people make small talk.

"Uh...so the weather here...it’s...different than New York, huh?” Bucky tried. Even to his own ears it sounded downright pathetic.

Tony gave him an unimpressed look. “Sure is,” he answered, sounding bored.

He continued to stare at Bucky for a moment, but then seemed to reluctantly take pity on him, as the internal struggle must have been clear from the look on Bucky’s face.

“But, I’m guessing you didn’t invite me out here just to discuss the benefits of the mild Wakandan climate.”

Bucky huffed a small laugh and ducked his head.

“Uh, no. No, not exactly.”

He paused and attempted to gather his thoughts for a final time, which seemed to have scattered like a bag of dropped marbles.

“There’s...there’s something that I need to...talk with you about. About my past. And well, and your father’s past too.” He glanced up from the rug that he had been focusing on with laser-like intensity.

Tony arched his eyebrows but said nothing, waiting for Bucky to continue.

Bucky’s gaze dropped back down to the rug and he desperately tried to remember the speech he had prepared last night when he couldn’t sleep.

“I, uh...well, during the War...your father and I...we...uh we worked together, and...” Bucky gripped his scotch glass tighter. _“Just spit it out!”_ his mind screamed at him. Fuck, this was harder than he had anticipated.

Bucky took a deep breath and just decided he had to bite the bullet. It didn’t look like Tony was wearing his suit, so he reasoned the worst he could likely do to him was put him in the hospital for a few days, nothing more.

“Your father and I were together, romantically, during the war,” he said in a rush. “I..we...I love him,” he finished softly, then looked helplessly up at Tony, steeling himself for whatever his reaction would be.

Tony had stopped pacing and was looking at him dead in the eye, his expression unreadable.

 _“Shit, shit, shit,”_ thought Bucky. Maybe this was a bad idea. 

Just as he was about to spiral into a full on panic Tony tilted his head to the side slightly and casually said, “Yeah, I know.”

Out of the million and one scenarios he had played out in his head, none of them had ended quite like this. He shook his head slightly, as if trying to make Tony’s reaction compute. 

“You what?” He said incredulously, squinting up at Tony.

Tony just shrugged as he looked down at his feet. When he looked back up he was smirking slightly, biting his lip as if trying to stifle a laugh.

All at once Bucky felt the heaviness of the room evaporate as he slumped back against the piano.

“Oh, you motherfucker,” he whispered, laughing slightly to himself as relief coursed through his body. He dipped his head and ran his hand through his hair.

“All this time...you were just enjoying watching me squirm weren’t you?”

Tony finally stopped pacing and flung himself down in the armchair opposite Bucky so they were eye-level. He casually swirled his scotch and watched the amber liquid settle before answering slyly.

“I do have to admit, it was pretty amusing.”

“Fuck,” Bucky breathed shaking his head. 

“I made a promise to Shuri I’d put you out of your misery tomorrow, but I had a feeling you would tell me before it got to that. Cutting it pretty close there Barnes.”

Bucky shakily took a sip of his drink, trying to come down from the emotional roller-coaster Tony had just sent him on.

“God, you really are Howard’s son,” he mused.

A new kind of thoughtful silence settled between the two of them. Each undoubtedly wrestling with their own memories of Howard, and how what was to come would forever alter that image.

Surprisingly, it was Tony who spoke first.

“I want to know about him, your version of him.”

“Tony I…” Bucky’s voice trailed off as he realized he had no idea how to finish that sentence.

He wasn’t even sure he could truly describe the way he was feeling, let alone in a way that would make sense to another person, especially when that person was Howard’s son.

He sat there for a moment, dazed. As the minutes ticked on he slowly realized Tony was still waiting for an answer. He let out a long slow breath, trying to get some semblance of a grasp on his thoughts.

“I’m guessing Shuri told you that I’ve asked her several times to erase my memories, right?”

Tony nodded. “She may have mentioned it...or I read it after hacking your file when Shuri claimed confidentiality...its neither here nor there, the point is, I’m aware you’ve made requests, yes.”

Bucky let out a short humorless laugh and dipped his head in acknowledgement. “The reason I asked, it wasn’t what Shuri, or T’Challa, or even Steve thought. They all thought I wanted to forget Howard, that I wanted to erase the memories, to erase the pain.” 

Bucky shook his head slowly and roughly ran his hand through his long hair.

“And I guess at first, maybe that was true. It was so overwhelming, I just wanted...I thought I’d rather feel nothing than this hell I’m living with.

“But the more I remembered...those memories of Howard…” Bucky’s voice broke slightly, but he forged ahead. “Those memories of Howard mean _everything_ to me. He was the best goddamn thing to ever happen to my life.

“Sometimes,” Bucky’s voice grew wistful. “I wonder...if I were to slip into a coma, could I just live in those memories forever?”

Bucky trailed off, lost in thought for a moment. Tony shifted slightly in his seat and that seemed to snap Bucky back into their current reality. 

“After what I did,” his voice took on a hard flinty edge. “Killing him, in cold blood,” he paused, looking down at his hand as he flexed it open and shut. 

When he spoke again his voice was little more than a whisper. 

“I’m not worthy of those memories. The man I am today, doesn’t deserve Howard’s love. Those memories, that happiness, it belongs to...someone else. I’m not deserving of the comfort they bring.”

Bucky clenched his fist tight. He could feel Tony’s eyes burrowing into the top of his scalp, but he couldn’t bring himself to lift his head and meet his gaze. 

He heard Tony gently set his scotch down on the table and slowly get up, making his way deliberately over to Bucky.

It wasn’t until he felt Tony’s strong grasp on his shoulder that he finally looked up, unshed tears clouding his eyes, which he quickly blinked away.

When he could finally see again, Tony’s gaze was ferocious. 

“Bucky,” his voice was measured, but there was a blazing heat coursing just below the surface. “I want you to listen to me very closely.”

He crouched down, so that the two of them were eye-level.

“You did not kill my parents.” His gaze was so piercing Bucky almost wanted to look away, but he forced himself to maintain eye contact. 

“Hydra killed them. Not you.”

Bucky shrugged out of his grasp and stood up, stalking slowly over to the otherside of the room. 

“You sound like Steve,” Bucky said dismissively. “Even if I couldn’t control it, it was still me, it was still my hand that dragged his body back into that burning car. And now it’s all I see, every single time I close my eyes.

“Steve, and Shuri, and T’Challa are all too kindhearted to say it, but I can tell they’re thinking it, just like you are.” He slowly picked up the grainy photo of Howard that he had returned to its spot by his bed. 

“I’m a monster,” he whispered to the photo.

“I think you’re being a little overly dramatic Barnes.”

Bucky whirled around to look at Tony, eyes flashing in sheer disbelief. They stared at each other for a beat. Then Tony sighed, his tone growing serious again.

“Bucky, look, I’ve read the files. What Hydra did to you...scientifically no one should have been able to survive that. Not only did you survive but you resisted for _seventeen fucking years_.

“I can see why my father dedicated his entire life to finding you, to bringing you back.”

“What do you mean?” Bucky cut in. “What do you mean he dedicated his life to finding me?”

“Bucky,” Tony let out a short exasperated breath. “My father never stopped looking for you, he funded excavation teams to dredge the site of your fall for any trace of you for years, he utilized all of his connections with SHIELD, an intelligence agency he and Agent Cater built from scratch, to track down every lead to you. He _never_ stopped believing he could bring you back.

“He was,” Tony paused for a moment. “He was getting close. And while I don’t have definitive proof, it’s not a far leap to make that the entire reason they sent you to dispatch him was because he had almost uncovered the truth.”

Bucky felt his stomach turn at Tony’s words, but he continued listening.

“The point is, Bucky, while there are many things that I still don’t know or understand about the man my father was, the one thing that is exceedingly clear to me, is that his most fervent wish was for you to be found, to be safe, and to be happy. And I’ll be damned if the lingering guilt of what _Hydra_ \--not you--did, stop that wish from being realized.” 

Tony threw his head back, draining the last of his drink and slammed it down on the table for emphasis, then fixed Bucky with another fierce glare as if daring him to contradict him. Bucky stared back at him in stunned silence, trying to absorb everything Tony has just said.

Howard has searched for him? _For years?_ Bucky didn’t know how to process that piece of information as he slowly sunk down onto the piano bench.

He had assumed that, like many who lose someone during war, Howard had mourned for him for a time, but had ultimately moved on. The fact that Howard married and had Tony only served to confirm that assumption in Bucky’s mind.

“But…” Bucky started slowly. “Howard married, I mean your mother, you…” he trailed off again, trying to make the puzzle pieces fit.

“Yes, well it would seem that my parents had a more...” Tony gestured abstractly. “Modern...sense of marriage for their time. In fact, he told my mother about you before he even proposed. That exhibit at the Smithsonian, that was all her.”

Bucky’s mind reeled. _What?_ It was as if the more Tony said to him, the less clear the picture became. Howard told his _wife_ about them? And she was just...okay with it? So okay with it she funded a memorial to him?

“Your mother must have been quite a woman,” Bucky finally said.

Tony smiled sadly. “She really was.”

They both sat silently for a moment, the atmosphere of the room having shifted considerably. This time it was Bucky who broke the silence first.

“I’ll tell you about him, whatever I can remember, if you want.”

“I’d like that very much, Bucky,” Tony smiled softly.

_Tony_

Tony almost couldn’t believe the change in Bucky. At first, his stories had been awkward and stilted. Missing major pieces, more just small fragments of a long hazy past than actual stories. But Tony had paid rapt attention all the same, laughing and agreeing at all the right times, encouraging Bucky the best he could. 

Slowly, the fragments started to take on more of a narrative. While Tony enjoyed hearing the antics Bucky and his father had gotten up to, he was more happy to see Bucky’s transformation.

It was like watching a rose slowly bloom. With every memory recounted, every recovered encounter, Bucky’s smile seemed to linger on his face longer. He laughed more easily and it sounded more genuine. The light in his eyes was slowly returning, making him resemble the cocky boy in the photo Tony had first found what now felt like a lifetime ago. 

“Howard thought it was absolutely hysterical that Steve had worn that stupid outfit Senator Brandt had made him wear on an actual mission,” Bucky said as he tossed a bale of hay with his one arm.

Tony reclined easily under a tree as he listened, making a half-hearted attempt at shelling the bucket of beans Bucky had placed in front of him. 

The last few days they’d fallen into an easy routine. Tony would hang around and help Bucky tend to his goats and his small farm, while Bucky would recount memories of Howard. Tony used the word “help” liberally in the sense that he usually just sat in the shade and sipped iced coffee he brought with him from the city each morning, while Bucky did all the manual labor.

“So when we all got back to London and Howard was in charge of outfitting us with all our tech, he also volunteered to make our uniforms. Now at the time I thought it was kind of strange, because your father wasn’t really one to _volunteer_ for extra jobs. But he convinced Carter that he was working on some kind of advanced fiber webbing that would act as additional protection to knife wounds and some types of ballistics.

“Now, when Howard wanted to sell something, he could really lay it on. Usually, Carter could see right through it, but for whatever reason he got the sign off to make the uniforms.”

Bucky paused and wiped sweat from his brow, then rested his hand on his hip. He looked up toward the sky smiling slightly at the memory.

“When we all were in the lab trying everything on, Howard pulled out Steve’s uniform and it was practically a replica of his Star Spangled-Man Suit. Steve’s face...God he was so pissed.” Bucky started laughing.

“What, you mean the whole stars and stripes thing wasn’t his idea?” Tony asked.

That just made Bucky laugh harder. “No! He hated it. We gave him so much shit for it. He thought he would just be getting a standard uniform like the rest of us.

“You should have seen him chasing Howard around the lab demanding a new uniform. God, Howard loved to push his buttons. He could get under his skin like no one else. I always got a kick out of watching.”

Well that sounded somewhat familiar to Tony.

“You know they basically duplicated that uniform for New York, right?” Tony asked, smirking.

Bucky had to support himself against the hoe he had picked up, he was laughing so hard. “Oh my God, I wish I could have seen his face when they gave it to him,” he said, shaking his head.

“It was funny enough watching him run around the trenches of Europe in that get-up, I can hardly imagine him doing it in New York.”

There was a lull in the conversation as Bucky surveyed the state of his garden.

“So, do you think you’ll ever go back? To New York I mean?”

Bucky paused, but said nothing, driving the hoe into the ground with surprising force for only using one arm.

Tony internally panicked that he had crossed some unspoken line.

Finally Bucky straightened up again. “Uh, I’m not really sure. I haven’t thought about it that much.”

Tony didn’t have to be a genius to spot the lie, so he waited for Bucky to continue.

“Hydra...they never really utilized me in terrain like this,” he gestured around. “Things here feel...new. Fresh. New York on the other hand...there’s just so many memories. Both from Hydra and from...before.”

Tony nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah that makes sense.”

They lapsed into companionable silence as Bucky busied himself with his vegetable garden. Tony absently gnawed on the straw of his iced coffee.

“You know, if you ever wanted to visit the manor, or any of the properties for that matter, you’d be more than welcome. I could give you the things he collected related to your search over the years if you want.”

Tony knew he was treading on uncertain ground, he wasn’t really sure how Bucky would react to the invitation.

“Um, thanks,” Bucky said quietly as he looked at the ground. “I’ll um, I’ll think about it and let you know.”

Tony shrugged. “No pressure, just know the offer stands.”

Bucky nodded without looking up, then turned and silently got back to work.

“ _Was that the right call?_ ” Tony said to himself as he stared at Bucky’s back.

##

Tony groped around for his communicator whose buzzing had awoken him from a dead slumber. 

“Jesus what time is it?” he muttered, as he tried to blink himself awake and read the message that appeared on the screen.

_White Wolf: CAN WE GO TO THE MANOR?_

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony groaned and he fell back against his pillow. “I made the right call.”

A few hours later dawn was just breaking over the Wakandan horizon.

“Are you sure T’Challa said this was okay?” Bucky said uncertainty as he looked at the Wakandan jet in front of them.

Tony rolled his eyes. 

“Bucky, relax. We are not _stealing_ the jet. We are just borrowing it and will be returning it promptly. I already left Shuri a message. It’s fine. I promise.”

Bucky shot him an unconvinced look but ducked into the cockpit.

“So, you sure you can fly this thing?”

This time it was Bucky’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Tony, relax,” he mimicked Tony’s earlier tone. “Hydra may be a bunch of fascist assholes, but their training was pretty effective, I can fly pretty much anything.”

Tony started to make a reply, but at that moment Bucky flipped the switches on the dashboard and the jet roared to life. Seconds later they were airborne.

Once they climbed above the clouds, Bucky switched the control over to autopilot and leaned back.

“So, do I need to be worried about remaining discreet when we land?”

“Uh…” Tony hesitated for a moment, it was a fair question and he realized now that this was probably more the reason for Bucky’s reluctance than the thought that T’Challa would miss the jet.

“Things with the Council are still getting worked out. You’ve been cleared of any wrongdoing in relation to the UN bombing, but…”

“But there are still questions as to where my loyalties lie?” Bucky finished flatly.

“For now, but I’m working on it.”

“You are?” Bucky said, genuinely surprised.

“Yeah?” Tony said, confused by Bucky’s tone. “Shuri and I have been putting together a report on the impact of Hydra’s brainwashing over your cognitive control that we are co-presenting at the next meeting. I thought you saw me reviewing the files in your room?”

Bucky just looked at him blankly. “Uh, no?”

“Huh.” Tony cocked his head. “Are you sure you were Hydra’s number one spy?” he said with a challenging smile.

Bucky rolled his eyes and turned his gaze back to the sky.

“Thank you,” he said quietly after a beat. 

“I mean I think it's the least I can do. Your relationship with my dear old dad makes you what? Like a second dad? Maybe an obscure uncle at the very least? Something right?”

Bucky wrinkled his nose. “Tony, don’t make it weird.” 

“So you don’t want me to call you Uncle Bucky?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

Bucky barked a laugh before wincing. “Most definitely not, oh God now you’ve made it weird.”

Tony simply smirked as he reclined his seat and closed his eyes. “Welcome to the family bud. Wake me up before we land.”

##

“So this is where you grew up, huh?”

Bucky stood in the driveway looking up at the manor somewhat awestruck as Tony breezed by him and up the stairs. 

“Off and on,” he called over his shoulder. “We alternated between here and the house outside of DC. It just depended on how closely Dad was working with SHIELD or the Pentagon. And we’d usually spend winters in California.”

Bucky huffed a small laugh. “Right, I remember Howard saying that.”

Tony shot him a puzzled look. “Saying what?”

Bucky shook his head slightly as he followed Tony up the steps. “Nevermind.”

Tony shrugged and pushed open the door.

“So, most of the stuff is in the study, but there is something else that I wanted to show you first.”

Tony led Bucky into a sun-filled salon that overlooked the entire property. In the center of the room sat a grand piano.

Tony saw something flicker across Bucky’s face, but before he could examine it too closely it was gone.

“So, Dad bought this. For you.” Tony sucked in his breath and winced slightly. “Technically he bought you two, because I may have accidentally broken the first one while throwing a kegger.”

An unexpected laugh escaped from Bucky. “You _what_?”

Tony waved his hand dismissively. “It’s a story for another day. The point is, Dad bought this for you and had it placed in our Penthouse in New York, which overlooked the whole skyline.

“I had it shipped here a few weeks ago. I figured you might want to see it, and the manor is easier for you to visit than the penthouse right now. 

“But, uh, yeah. I just know that Dad would’ve wanted you to see it and…” 

Tony motioned towards the piano, gesturing for Bucky to take a closer look. Bucky cautiously walked towards the bench, as if the floor was rigged with landmines.

Bucky reached his hand down, fingers hovering just over the keys.

“Howard bought this for me?” he said quietly, almost reverently.

“Yep!” Tony said, popping the “p” and rocking forward on the balls of his feet. He increasingly felt like he was encroaching on a private moment. 

“Yep, he did. So I’m just going to,” he pointed abstractly behind him to another part of the house. “I’m just going to give you a minute.” He finished hastily making his exit.

_Bucky_

“So what kind of a place are we talking here? Stage, pit band, flashy dames? There was this club I went to in Jersey, Buck you wouldn’t believe…”

“No, no, no,” Bucky cut in laughing before Howard’s rambling could take them too far off track. “Something more relaxed, like a small intimate lounge, you know?”

Howard made an affirmative sound before flicking the welding mask back down on his face and spinning around to work on whatever prototype he was currently tinkering with.

Bucky pulled out another cigarette and tapped it against the workbench before placing it between his lips. He hazard a glance at the clock as he patted down his jacket for his matchbook. Shit, already 9:00 pm, he’d spent almost another full day in the lab. Well since Carter hadn’t come in looking for him, he reasoned it was probably okay.

He was pulled from his thoughts by a matchbook hitting his face. His sound of surprised protest muffled as he fought to maintain the grip of the cigarette between his lips. 

“How is it that you smoke like a chimney and yet you are almost always completely devoid of matches?” Howard said as he lifted the welding mask, a look of genuine curiosity on his face.

Just then a smirk pulled at the edges of his mouth. “I could always light it with the blowtorch if you want.”

“Absolutely not,” Bucky said quickly. “I enjoy having eyebrows, and a nose, and a mouth for that matter.”

Howard just shrugged as he discarded the welding mask on the bench behind him and picked up his pencil to jot a few notes.

“But really, tell me about this club you wanna open when we get home, I wanna know. Got a name yet?

Bucky shook his head and took a drag of his cigarette. “No name yet, just more a feeling.” He tilted his head back and exhaled the smoke.

“I want it to be a place where you can listen to a little music, have a couple drinks with friends, dance if you want. Just something small, underground, with great acts,” Bucky said thoughtfully.

“Well, you have to promise to reserve me a table down front,” Howard answered. “Sounds pretty grand.”

“Yeah,” Bucky smiled softly down at the table. “Yeah, I think it’d be pretty nice.”

The memory washed over Bucky as he slowly eased himself down onto the piano bench. The conversation he’d had with Howard all those years ago about his dream of opening a club, something he’d never shared with anyone.

As he stared at the piano, he didn’t know how to feel. There were too many emotions swirling through his mind for him to pinpoint just one. But mostly he just so desperately wanted to hear Howard’s voice again.

“Goddamnit Howard,” he whispered as he felt tears start to slowly streak down his cheeks. “I miss you so fucking much.”

He roughly drew a breath and gently placed his hand on the keys. Slowly he started softly playing the opening notes of Duke Ellington’s All Too Soon. He remembered Howard had mentioned it was one of his favorites when Bucky first told him he played.

He was a little clumsy with one hand, but he was surprised how quickly the notes came back to him, or maybe they had never really left.

He closed his eyes, letting his memory guide him as he tried to let the notes carry away the sadness, or at least a little piece of it.

Just as his hand went to play the final few notes he pressed the keys only to be met with silence. Bucky’s eyes flew open, as he looked down at the piano in confusion. The keys had been in perfect working order just a moment ago.

Experimentally, he pressed the keys again. Again no sound came out but instead there was a soft clicking sound. 

“What the…” Bucky whispered. 

Suddenly the music rack in front of him softly opened. Revealing that instead of a standard music rack, it actually contained a hidden compartment, the door of which now slid smoothly to the side. Bucky stared in disbelief at the sight in front of him.

There, nestled in the compartment, was a bright ivory envelope. It contrasted sharply with the dark wood of the piano. In the center was one word, _Bucky_ , written in Howard’s unmistakable neat looping cursive.

Bucky reached out a trembling hand to touch it, convinced it must be some kind of mirage. When his fingers were met with the heavy vellum paper of the envelope he let out a small sob.

Gingerly he lifted it from the compartment and flipped it over. He hesitated for just a moment before reaching down to grab the knife he had stashed on his ankle (old habits die hard) and slicing through the crease of the envelope. 

He gently pulled out the letter. Part of him was convinced that this was some kind of dream, but even if it was, he at least wanted to have the chance to read Howard’s words before he woke up. He unfolded the letter and started reading.

_February 1, 1968_

_Dear Bucky,_

_I know the odds of you ever having the opportunity to read this letter are infinitesimal, not even factoring in if you find it. Hell, I’ve run the statistical models, I know the numbers. It's small but it's not zero. So no matter how slim the chances are of this letter ever reaching you, I feel I would be remiss in not at least writing it._

_God, there are so many things I want to say. I hardly know where to start. First and foremost, I have never stopped loving you. As I sit writing this letter almost 25 years after first laying eyes on you, my love is just as strong now as it was then. You will always be the love of my life._

_I only wish that we had the opportunity to live the life that seemed so within our reach when we were daydreaming in the lab. Our own little bubble--you made the reality of war seem so much farther away. Tucked away just the two of us, I thought the War would never touch us. So naive._

_As I look back on my life now, I know our time together was brief, hardly the blink of an eye, but I will carry it with me forever. I feel like I lived a lifetime in those few months with you, and still it wasn't enough. When you didn’t come back...I nearly lost myself. And to be honest sometimes I think I still might. Without Peggy and Maria I probably would have long ago._

_There was so much I had hoped for us Bucky. I never had a clear picture of my future--beyond my dreams for Stark Industries. After meeting you I knew. I knew what I wanted, I could see it clearer that I ever had before. And that was you--all of you. All of the quiet small intimate moments that come with the gentle comfort of sharing your life with another person.There are so many things over the years that I truly yearned to share with you, both the grand and the mundane._

_And I still want that Bucky--for you. You deserve to feel the happiness and fulfillment that comes with the beauty of love. If things has been different, if you had never gone on that mission, or we had never been shipped back to London, or a million other scenarios that could have immeasurably changed the twist of our fates, if we have been able to live the life we both craved, I would be the one to give you that love. And while I will always hold that love in my heart for you, that sadly is not our reality. But it doesn’t mean you can’t find it in the circumstances we’ve found ourselves in._

_You made me a promise once Bucky Barnes--that you’d come back. And while I’m still holding you to that one, if you’re reading this I have another I need you to make:_ _live_ _, for both of us. I do not want you to live your life shrouded in the half-darkness of what could have been as I have._

_Live the life we both so desperately deserved when we were just a couple of kids trying to find our place in the shadow of a world locked in inconceivable upheaval._

_And please, always remember my words. I love you Bucky Barnes._

_Howard_

Bucky sat there silently. Eyes roving over the page. Drinking in every word. He gently traced his fingers over the looping letters, feeling the sloping curve of Howard’s handwriting, imagining him sitting down to write this letter. 

Tears slowly rolled down his cheeks as he read the letter for a second and then third time. Slowly savoring each word.

“Hey, so if you’re hungry I was thinking…” Tony quickly broke off his sentence as he surveyed the scene he had walked in on.

His eyes quickly darted from the secret compartment in the music stand, to the letter in Bucky’s hand, to his tear-streaked face. It wasn’t difficult from him to put together a fairly accurate hypothesis of what has just unfolded.

“Uh...are you okay?” He asked cautiously.

Bucky was silent for a moment. Without looking up he carefully re-folded the letter and tucked it slowly back into the ivory envelope.

“No.” He answered plainly. 

He slowly raised his head and met Tony’s gaze, staring for a beat. Then he looked back down at the letter, running his finger along the edge.

“But I think I will be,” he smiled wanly. “Eventually.”

With a huff he heaved himself up from the piano bench and strode across the room to where Tony stood hesitantly in the doorway.

“Come on,” he said, patting Tony on the shoulder. “I think we owe the old man a toast, wouldn’t you agree?”

Bucky started confidently down the hallway.

“Sure,” Tony agreed. Jogging to catch up with him.

“And I bet,” Bucky stopped and turned back towards Tony, a mischievous glint in his eye, “between the two of us we can figure out where Howard kept the _really_ good stuff.”

Tony closed the distance between them, slinging his arm around Bucky’s shoulder. “Bucky, I like the way you think.”

Some time later they stood in Howard’s office, gazing out the floor-to-ceiling windows, a healthy slug of scotch each between them. Finally Tony broke the contemplative silence.

“To Dad,” he said, raising his glass.

Bucky smiled softly. “To Howard,” he responded quietly, raising his glass. “ _To Howard._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is. I hope you liked the way things ended up!
> 
> I just really want to give a heartfelt thanks to everyone who read, left kudos, and especially who commented. You made the experience of posting my first every fic so amazing, thank you so much for your support. I really enjoyed hearing your thoughts and feedback, and I tried to incorporate your comments, which I think made the fic that much better. 
> 
> I am already planning my next HowardBucky fic, which will feature a non-homophobic 1940s AU, a fake/pretend relationship, and salacious gossip columnist Loki. If that sounds your speed make sure to check back!


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